


Nothing Short Of Perfect

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, College, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek and Stiles are made aware of their potential and have to make a choice about what their relationship will be.</p><p>
  <i>“Let me get this straight,” his dad says. “You’re telling me a witch told Derek and yourself that you could be destined to be together and now Derek will be going to college with you?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Stiles shrugs, resting his hands on his legs to stop himself from fidgeting. “That’s about it, yep.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Short Of Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this way before 3a started, and finished it after it ended. There are a few minor elements taken from 3a (Cora and Jennifer are both mentioned, Jackson isn't around) but I've kept Boyd & Erica alive and Derek is still an Alpha.
> 
> Also part of [Trope Bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Trope: Friends to Lovers/Friends with Benefits.
> 
> Title from Lucero - Can't Feel A Thing.

Stiles looks at Derek in disgust and is kind of offended when he sees the exact same look on Derek’s face which, rude much? Stiles is a _catch_ , thank you very much.

“Him?” He asks the witch, rolling his eyes and hiking a thumb at Derek. “Are you sure? Because we’re not like that.”

“You don’t have to be,” she says with a smirk, leaning against a tree. “The universe looks for _potential_. Anyway, that doesn’t matter, now it’s been acknowledged, you’re going to have to deal with it. ”

“Can’t we ignore it?” Stiles glances at Derek who has so far remained quiet, because why break the habit of a lifetime? Sure, leave Stiles to talk to the magical being, that always ends well.

“That won’t work.”

Derek finally speaks up, glaring at the witch. “What does that mean?”

“It means, Hale, now that you’re both aware of the bond, it’s going to make it very difficult for Mr. Stilinski to go back to college without you.”

“What the fuck?” Stiles says. “Are you seriously telling me I’ll die without him? Him?”

The witch laughs. Doesn’t even have the decency to cackle. No respect for tradition, modern witches. None at all. “You won’t die,” she says, looking at him as if he’s stupid. “You’ll just feel nauseated on a regular basis, and maybe some headaches.” She looks them both over and shrugs. “But whatever, it’s your choice.” And, with that, she vanishes.

Great.

“Oh. Well. That sounds like fun,” Stiles says, looking at Derek. “So, you’re moving in with me.”

“No,” Derek snorts. “Not happening.”

“Dude, I’m an awesome roommate. Ask my dad. Or the jackass I roomed with freshman year and didn’t kill which, believe me, was a miracle.” Derek raises his eyebrows at that and turns round, heading back to the edge of the preserve. Stiles sighs and chases after him. “Look, hey—hey, Derek. Stop already.” He runs right into Derek’s back because Derek is nothing if not literal and has stopped in the middle of the path

“Ow,” Stiles says, rubbing his nose. “Okay, look, I’m not exactly keen on living with you,” he says to Derek’s back. “The whole reason I spent this summer working is so that I didn’t have to live in shitty student housing with people I hate. But I have a feeling that nausea and headaches will probably get in the way of me, y’know, studying.”

“What do you want from me, Stiles?” Derek says without turning around.

“Come with me. At least for the first semester. If you hate it, if we decide that this is—then I’ll find some way to deal with everything.” Stiles watches Derek’s back and sees the exact moment when Derek’s shoulders slump slightly, the only sign that he’s giving in. He isn’t quite sure when he got so good at reading Derek, but Stiles is suddenly struck by the realisation that he knows what that little hitch of his arm means, knows what the shuffle of his feet means. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that.

Derek turns around and nods reluctantly, meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Fine. But _you’re_ telling your father.”

Fuck.

*

“Let me get this straight,” his dad says. “You’re telling me a witch told Derek and yourself that you could be destined to be together and now Derek will be going to college with you?”

Stiles shrugs, resting his hands on his legs to stop himself from fidgeting. “That’s about it, yep.”

“He splitting the rent with you?” his dad asks, shaking his head in what Stiles thinks is disbelief. It’s not like Stiles _plans_ on getting himself into these situations. His dad could be a little less with the judging face.

“I, uh. I don’t know. We didn’t really discuss it.”

“Did you discuss anything? Like what Derek’s meant to do while you’re in class?”

“Sit around and brood?” Stiles suggests, scrunching up his face and waving a hand around. “I don’t know dad. It’s not like I even planned on having anyone around, let alone whatever Derek is to me now.”

“Right.” His dad fixes his eyes on him. “Kid, talk to Derek. Really talk to him.”

Stiles makes a face at his dad, even though he knows he’s right. “But you’re okay with it?”

“You’re an adult. You want to shack up with your werewolf mate, I can’t stop you.” He sits back in his chair and shakes the paper, ignoring Stiles’ spluttering.

“Oh my God, don’t call him that,” says Stiles eventually as he walks out of the room.

*

“I get that you’re not thrilled about this,” Stiles says as they sit in Derek’s apartment hashing things out. “But there’s something else going on with you. Share, or I’ll blow wolfsbane in your face.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the impotent threat and folds his arms over his chest, the action making his biceps bulge. Part of Stiles hates that he still notices that, that even after all these years his stupid libido hasn’t grown out of noticing how attractive Derek is.

“Leaving Beacon Hills,” Derek starts to say, twisting his fingers in his lap. “It’s not optimal.”

“Okay,” Stiles says quietly, not taking his eyes off Derek. “Explain.”

“It feels like home again. It’s _mine_ again. I know we’re not going far, but leaving Beacon Hills with no one here doesn’t feel right,” Derek says, looking away from Stiles. “And the witch said it was potential that put us in this situation, and I get that. It would be stupid to say I didn’t, but this shouldn’t be—it should be a choice. For both of us.”

Stiles could smack himself in the face for not realising this, he knows Derek’s history, knows that the slightest idea of being forced into any kind of relationship hits all the wrong buttons. Leaning forward, he touches Derek’s leg. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but—look, I’ll buy dinner the first night we’re there, okay?”

“You won’t cook for me?” Derek asks with a small smirk.

“If I cook for you, you’ll be back here before classes even start.”

*

Stiles does buy dinner the first night they’re there. It’s only Thai take out, but Derek devours it like he’s never seen food before. It’s actually kind of gross, and Stiles has to bite his tongue not make a raised by wolves joke, because he’s tasteless, not mean.

The apartment is kind of homey—he’d picked it out online and showed it to Derek, who’d grunted and agreed with his choice—it came furnished and there’s not much Stiles really cares to do to it. Derek had frowned a little when they first walked in, but smirked a little when Stiles told him he wouldn’t judge if he wanted to get all wolfy and rub up against the furniture.

“So what are you going to do while I’m in classes?”

Derek swallows a mouthful of food and looks away for a moment before he replies. “I’m going to finish my degree.”

“Really? Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know you’d—never mind. What’s your degree in?”

“History.”

“That’s not what I expected.”

“I’m not stupid, Stiles.” Derek glares down at his sticky rice.

“Did I say that?” Stiles says, waving a fork around. “I didn’t say that. Dude, I don’t think you’re stupid. Sometimes your plans are stupid, but that’s more you not trusting your instincts than it is you being stupid.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek. “If you want a compliment, go find a bar. I’m sure people will fall over themselves to compliment you.” Stiles takes a swig of his soda. Soda, because Derek refused to give him a beer. Never mind that he’d spent his freshman year making the most out of the fake ID he managed to con one of the other kids into getting him. No, with Derek he had to obey the _law_. He’s not going to miss waking up with hangovers, or strange bruises he doesn’t remember getting, but that wouldn’t happen with one beer. “What made you study history?”

“I liked it,” Derek says in a way that means Stiles isn’t getting anymore answers tonight. Picking up the cartons, Derek takes them into the kitchen, throwing away the empty ones and sticking the leftovers in the fridge. Stiles follows him, dropping the forks in the sink and hovering awkwardly when Derek straightens up.

“So what do you want to do now?” he asks.

“What do you normally do in the evenings?” Derek responds, leaning against the counter. “And don’t say jerking off.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s not all I do.”

“The smell in your bedroom at home throughout high school suggests otherwise.”

Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up. He’s not ashamed, but he never thought Derek paid close attention to anything he did during high school. Especially not _that_. Stiles rubs the back of his neck and glares at Derek. “I guess you never give yourself a little self pleasure? All those hours you’re alone, you never stroke the salami?” Derek’s face is one of absolute horror and Stiles feels oddly proud. “Just saying, it would explain all your grumpiness if you didn’t. You should try it.”

“Can we—can you.” Derek holds a hand up, closing his eyes for a moment. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“And I’m regretting it.”

Stiles ducks his head into the fridge and grabs another soda. “You ever watched Adventure Time?”

“No.”

“Oh dude,” Stiles passes Derek a beer. “That’s what we’re doing tonight. We set up the XBox, right?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Right, what was I thinking,” Stiles says, making a face at Derek. “Come on,” he says, heading back to the main room. “You’re gonna love it.”

*

There’s two weeks to go before school starts and they spend those two weeks trying to find a way to live with each other without going insane. Stiles isn’t really used to it; his roommate last year didn’t give a shit about making nice, and that made Stiles not give a shit either. There’d been moments when he’d left the dagger Deaton had given him on his desk just so his roommate would shut up. Stiles hadn’t exactly been proud of that, but it had been a desperate time. 

Living with Derek isn’t that bad. He forgets to clean the bathroom sink out after shaving, but when Stiles wipes the sink with a washcloth and throws it in Derek’s face that soon changes. When Stiles leaves dirty spoons on the counter after eating cereal, Derek wakes him up from his nap by throwing them at his head.

They have dinner one night and Derek tells him that the sink thing used to drive Laura crazy after they left Beacon Hills. Stiles talks about how his mom hating doing dishes, how he thinks that it’s hereditary because they’ve always been his least favourite chore.

“I don’t think you can inherit things like that,” Derek says with a smile. “But if you can, I inherited my mom’s hatred of doing laundry.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek and spins the pasta around his fork. “I knew you bought cheap shirts in packs and threw them away when they got dirty.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Derek protests.

“When did you do laundry, then?”

Derek’s cheeks flush. “Laundromats,” he says. “And, uh. Your house,” he says under his breath.

“I knew it!” Stiles’ fork clatters against the plate. “I knew we weren’t going through that much detergent.”

“Your dad knew.”

“What?” Stiles looks at him in confusion. “How?”

“After you were in the hospital, he said if I ever needed anything, I should ask him.”

“And you decided that meant laundry?” Stiles asks, picking his fork back up.

Derek shrugs, hands wrapped around his glass. “He said anything. It was only until I got the apartment.”

Stiles shakes his head, a smile on his face as they finish dinner, taking comfort in the way Derek’s sock clad foot nudges his every so often.

*

They both forget trash collection day until Stiles comes home with a calendar where he’s marked it in for the rest of the school year. Derek rolls his eyes until Stiles points out he’s also circled every full moon. At that, Derek goes quiet, a small smile tugging at his lips when Stiles knocks their shoulders together.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Stiles says as he tacks the calendar up on the wall.

“Glad what’s me?”

“If I had to share a bond with anyone. I’m glad it’s you.”

“Oh.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and pokes Derek’s side. “Don’t think that makes you special,” he says. “I’m basing this on who won’t kill me during full moons.”

“Stiles, you know everyone can control themselves now.”

“Not like you,” Stiles says, turning away and fiddling with the roll of kitchen towels. “I trust you.”

Derek’s silent for a long time after that, and Stiles has no idea what he’s thinking. He really wishes this bond came with mind reading powers. Or, no. One way mind reading powers, maybe because he’s not sure he wants Derek knowing what he’s thinking sometimes. Even before this bond, Derek turned up in his mastabatory fantasies more times than Stiles would like to admit.

Getting to _know_ Derek like this hasn’t helped. He’s seen Derek sleepy eyed with bed hair stumbling towards the bathroom clad in soft looking sleep pants. There’ve been quiet nights where they’ve ignored whatever bad movie playing on the television and talked about anything and everything. Sometimes Derek stumbles over his words and Stiles gets the feeling he’s hearing things Derek has never shared with anyone. He talks about how his mom ran the pack, how his dad’s collection of vinyl burnt up in the fire and Derek wants to replace it all because it was going to be his one day. Talks about the first time Cora shifted and she tore her soft toy bunny to shreds before his mom managed to get to her. How Laura snuck him out at night when he turned thirteen and they sat in the woods howling until their dad came to get them.

There’s all these sides to Derek that Stiles never knew about and each time Derek shares something, it feels like the walls are crumbling down. Stiles shares things as well. Things that only Scott knows about, things he’s never told anyone. It’s easy, somehow, to tell Derek how he was so scared he was going to lose his dad after his mom died that he didn’t sleep for a week. How when he figured out he was bisexual he wished his mom could’ve been there for him to tell. That whenever he catches the scent of cinnamon, he’s instantly reminded of the cookies she’d make at Christmas.

Stiles doesn’t know if it has anything to do with the bond, or if it’s simply because he and Derek are actually spending time together, but he likes it. Possibly a little too much. He’s itching to research the bond, to work out if his feelings are a result of that, or if he’s actually, for real, feeling something for Derek. Stiles knows he could talk to Derek, make him sit down and discuss it, but the mere idea of that terrifies him. Sticking his head in the sand seems like a far more sensible idea.

*

There’s an annoying noise echoing in his ears, it keeps saying “Stiles, wake up,” and Stiles is not okay with that. He reaches a hand out and slaps, hitting firm muscle and, oh _shit_. Stiles cracks an eye open and quickly shuts it again when he catches a glimpse of Derek glaring at him.

“Stiles.”

“No, no, Stiles is not here,” he says, burrowing under the blankets as a defence mechanism. “Stiles is currently hiding incase the angry werewolf he lives with decides to eat him.”

“I’m not going to eat you.”

Stiles pulls the blankets down and opens his eyes. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” Derek says as he stands up. “But you’re going to be late for your first class if you don’t get up.”

“What?” Stiles flails around, kicking the blankets off, realising too late that he’s wearing his ancient, threadbare Batman PJs. He glares at Derek when he smirks. “Shut up, they’re awesome.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, you were thinking it,” Stiles says, swinging his legs round and sitting up. “You coming with?”

“To the shower?”

“No,” Stiles exclaims. “To school.” He looks at Derek and frowns. “And you’re just being mean, taking advantage of my sleep addled state.”

“If you hurry, you’ll have time for coffee,” Derek calls as he walks out the door, leaving Stiles scrambling around for clothes. This is so not how he wanted to start the year.

*

“Do you even have class this early?” Stiles asks, rubbing his eyes when they pull up to campus.

Derek shrugs and gets out of the car. “I figured I’d walk around, get to know the area.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, rushing around the car and catching him by the arm. “When’s your first class?”

“Eleven.”

“It’s eight thirty.”

“Like I said,” Derek says, handing Stiles his bag with a small grin. “I want to walk around.”

“Uh huh. Right. I’ve got a Juvenile Justice class starting soon, so remember: no marking your territory, and ignore all the co-eds who will hit on you.” Stiles shoots a look at the group of students loitering by the coffee cart. It’s not like he doesn’t know Derek is hot, but he doesn’t want—he really needs to stop this train of thought. “I’ll see you later? Lunch?”

Derek nods, brushes his fingers against Stiles’ cheek and saunters off in the direction of the library. Stiles stares after him, his mouth parted, and he isn’t even going to begin to work out what that was about. He’s definitely _not_ going to think about the fact that he’s sure his cheek is tingling from Derek’s touch. That’s not a thing that happens.

*

“So what’s it like?” Scott asks on the screen.

Stiles looks up and makes a face. “What?”

“Living with Derek. It’s been, what, a month now? How is it? Is it weird? Does he have strange habits?”

“Asks the dude who keeps all his odd socks together because they get lonely?” Stiles raises an eyebrow at the webcam and shakes his head. “It’s like living with anyone. We’re making it work.”

“But it’s Derek.”

“I’m aware of that, Scott. Look, if you’re that curious, come down for a weekend or whatever.”

Scott’s quiet for a moment before he nods his head. “You sure? Like, Derek wouldn’t mind?”

“Why should he?” Stiles waves a hand. “I’ll ask, but dude, come down. Bring whoever you want, I’m sure Derek wants to see them. You can share the floor.”

“You mean I can’t snuggle with you?” Scott asks with a grin.

“I’m worried my manly scent will be too much for you and Allison will attack me in a jealous rage. Ass.”

Scott laughs, his head tipping back and Stiles grins. He misses his best friend, he really does. Derek’s great, but it’s not the same as having the dude you met in a sandbox with you. “Okay, okay,” Scott says. “I’ll come down.”

“Good.” Stiles glances at the clock in the corner of the screen. “Haven’t you got to get to work?”

“Shit, yeah. I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, holding a fist up to the webcam, smiling when Scott does the same before ending the call.

Closing his laptop after emailing his dad, Stiles lies back on his bed and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a hum of noise coming through the closed door, and he knows it’s Derek watching television. It’s comforting, in the way that knowing you’re not alone in a place always is. Stiles had been okay with living alone in theory, but now that he’s living with Derek, he’s realised what a phenomenally bad idea that would’ve been.

Stiles doesn’t fare well by himself. There’s a reason he and Scott were always thrown together whenever their parents had shift work, and it wasn’t just an attempt to keep them out of trouble. It was so they had each other, so they were able to have other people to rely on. He’s not sure he knew how much he relied on having that around him until he left for college.

It’s not like he didn’t meet people during freshman year, he did, but they weren’t _friends_. They were fun to get drunk with, to sit in the crappy diner off campus at 1am and chug down black coffee in an attempt to sober up while picking at the burnt pancakes, but that was about it. The closest any of them found to meaningful conversation happened after downing shots of tequila, and even then it was mostly to get laid. Which was fine, Stiles had enjoyed it, but something in him always craved _more_ and he hadn’t known what to do with that.

Now, though, he has Derek here. It’s not as strange as Stiles thought it would be, for some ungodly reason they work together. He’s trying not to examine it too hard, because if he pulls that thread, it might fall apart and he doesn’t want that to happen. Stiles has got used to their Sunday mornings together, they’ve settled into a routine, which is really fucking weird. After making it through Adventure Time, they started on Rugrats and there are mornings where Stiles ends up with his head in Derek’s lap, Derek’s fingers carding through his hair, and Stiles _loves_ it. Derek’s fingers are strong, could hurt Stiles so easily, but he’s always gentle when he touches Stiles. He’ll press his side against Stiles while they cook, graze a hand against Stiles’ shoulder when they pass each other in the apartment, and when they sit together at the table in the corner to study, their feet tangle together in the most casual of ways.

Derek’s made this place feel like home.

*

Stiles chops up the chicken breast and throws it in the wok while Derek roots through the fridge for some vegetables. There’s the low hum of Led Zeppelin II coming through the speakers and they brush against each other as they move through the kitchen; Derek slicing up the vegetables, the sleeves of his thin t shirt pulling against his biceps as he stirs the noodles. It’s slightly distracting and Stiles quickly averts his eyes back to the wok.

“Are you planning on doing anything with your degree?” Stiles asks as Derek throws some broccoli into the wok.

“Like what? Asking people if they’d like fries with that?” Derek switches the heat off below the pot and drains the noodles, tipping them into the wok.

“No,” Stiles says, nudging Derek with his hip as he drizzles soy sauce over everything. “When you were in New York, did you—were there plans? Did you want to teach? Study more?”

Derek shrugs, getting plates down as Stiles tosses the stir fry together before switching the heat off. “I never thought about it. Laura, she wanted me to go to college after I got my GED, so I went to a local community college. It took my mind off everything. I—I liked history. Made me feel less like I was fucking up.”

“In comparison with all the fuck ups of the past?” Stiles says with a small smile, heaping large helpings of food onto the plates.

“Something like that,” Derek says, putting the plates down on the breakfast bar and hopping on a stool. “Get drinks?”

Stiles nods and ducks into the fridge, bringing out two cans of Pepsi. He forgoes glasses and sits them on the counter. “So what do you want to do?”

“When I grow up?”

“Yes, Derek. When you grow up.” Stiles rolls his eyes and elbows Derek. “I know that you have money, but the supernatural isn’t taking up all of your time now. Don’t you get bored?”

“I never really thought about it,” Derek says around a mouthful of food. “I guess—”

“What?”

“Over the summers in New York, I worked with this guy, he made furniture. Unique pieces, you know, for people who didn’t want to buy mass produced stuff.”

“You liked it?”

“I was good at it.”

“But did you like it?” Stiles shrugs. “If you don’t need the money, you may as well do something you want to do.”

“It was peaceful,” Derek says, opening the Pepsi. “Cleared my mind.”

Stiles makes a thoughtful noise, chewing on a bit of chicken. “You could do that in Beacon Hills,” he says after swallowing. “There’s enough people with money who would buy things like that. Nearby towns as well, if you wanted to branch out.”

“I was a wanted criminal, Stiles. Who will want to buy furniture from me?”

“Lots of people.” Stiles kicks Derek’s shin. “Make something for my dad, that’ll put you on the path to respectability. Besides,” he says. “After you saved that kid from being run over, the whole town thinks you’re awesome. I mean, sure, even the people who’re trying to get on all that look like they’re taking their lives in their hands when they talk to you, but they still _like_ you.”

“Get on all that? Really?”

Stiles points at Derek with his fork. “Don’t. You know how people look at you.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Derek mumbles, staring at his plate.

“Does it have to mean anything? I know you—after Jennifer—” Stiles sighs, not wanting to open up old wounds. “Flirting doesn’t have to mean you want a relationship with someone. It’s fun.”

“I’ve seen your attempts at flirting,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows at Stiles. “I wouldn’t call that fun.”

“Asshole,” Stiles grins. “I did fine during freshman year, thank you.”

“Oh really?”

Stiles knows his skin is heating up, can feel the flush spreading across his cheeks and he takes a big gulp of Pepsi to cover it, suddenly aware of how close Derek’s thigh is to his; how their arms are pressed against each other in a way that is totally impractical for eating, and how they’ve managed to make that work. “Okay,” he says after a long silence. “You should look into that—building furniture I mean—when we go home.”

“Yeah,” Derek says quietly. “Maybe I will.”

*

Stiles has just about enough time to brace himself before Scott comes hurtling at him, his arms wrapping around Stiles and squeezing hard. “Missed you,” he mumbles into Stiles’ neck before letting go.

“Missed you too, dude,” Stiles says, stepping back to let Scott in. “No one else with you?”

“Isaac and Boyd had work, and Erica’s got a paper due on Monday.” Scott drops his bag next to the couch and sits down. “Nice place.”

Stiles shrugs, leaning over the breakfast bar to grab a family sized bag of Doritos. “It works for us.”

“Where is Derek?”

“His classes run later than mine do on Fridays,” Stiles says, dropping onto the couch and handing the Doritos to Scott. “Usually I’d wait on campus for him, but you were coming so—”

“You wait for him?”

“Yeah. We don’t cook on Fridays, and there’s this awesome pizza place between here and school that we go to and—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Scott shakes his head, a smile on his face as he digs into the Doritos. “Nothing. It’s just. You guys have a _routine_. That’s so cute.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, snatching the bag from Scott’s hand.

“Do you split up the chores?” Scott laughs, bumping shoulders with Stiles. “It’s so domestic.”

“We’re living together, Scott, what did you expect?”

“Okay, sorry.” Scott wipes his hands on his pants and looks around the room. “It is adorable, though.”

Stiles tries to hide the grin on his face, elbowing Scott in the ribs. “Shut up.”

*

Derek comes home toting pizza and they all crash across the furniture, eating and watching Die Hard for what Stiles is sure must be the hundredth time he and Scott have seen it.

“You’re both okay with it, right? The bond?” Scott asks suddenly, his eyes fixed on the television, a slice of pizza in his hand.

“Uh.” Stiles tilts his head back to look at Derek, who shrugs in response and bites into his slice. “Yeah,” Stiles says, finally. “We’re making it work.”

“Good,” Scott says. “We were kind of worried about you.”

“We? You’ve all been talking about us?”

Scott looks over at Stiles, widening his eyes. “Not like that, man, come on. You know we wouldn’t.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Stiles waves a hand in the air and leans back against Derek’s legs. “I—we’re good. Right, Derek?”

Derek moves slightly, letting Stiles sink back against the couch, his legs either side of Stiles’ body. “We’re fine,” Derek says, absently. “Making it work, like Stiles says.”

“What does it actually mean? Are the two of you going to be tied together for the rest of your lives?”

“I—” Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Scott glances over at them, his brow furrowing. “Derek?”

Stiles can feel Derek’s legs tense, and he sighs, running a hand down Derek’s calf. “Drop it, Scott,” he says quietly. “We’re fine.”

“Oh-kay,” Scott says. “I’m gonna—need the bathroom.”

Derek doesn’t relax, Stiles can practically hear him grinding his teeth and—he knew this would happen. Knew that eventually they’d have to talk about the bond, but not like this. Not when he can feel the tension crackling in the air and when Scott will be back from the bathroom any second. Stiles rests his head against Derek’s knee and squeezes the back of his leg. “We’re going to have to talk about this,” he says quietly. “You know we are.”

“I know,” Derek says, running a hand through Stiles’ hair. “I know.”

*

Stiles doesn’t sleep well that night. He tosses and turns and spends far too long wondering if Scott or Derek can hear him. Eventually he passes out, and is rudely awakened by his alarm going off. Stumbling into the kitchen, he throws an apple at Scott’s sleeping form because if he’s awake, his best friend has to join him. Stiles is pretty sure that’s in the friendship handbook somewhere, which he attempts to explain to Scott as he whines about coffee.

They perch at the breakfast bar with warm mugs of coffee clutched in their hands. “I’m sorry,” Scott says, breaking the quiet.

“For what?”

“Bringing up the bond,” Scott says with a grimace. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

Stiles shrugs, a thin smile on his face. “It’s okay. Someone had to say it, and it wasn’t going to be me. Or Derek.”

“Eggshells?”

“Pretty much.” Stiles takes a sip of his coffee, his leg bouncing as his mind races. “We have been okay, you know? I guess we just weren’t talking about it.”

“You know you’re gonna have to, right?”

“Believe me, I know,” Stiles says, making a face. “Are you sure you can’t stay here longer than the weekend? Like, until Derek and I forget we have to talk.”

“No.”

“Jackass.”

Scott laughs, his foot grazing against Stiles’ leg in a light kick. “Hey,” he says. “Is there any food in this place?”

“I can make eggs,” comes Derek’s voice from the hall, and Stiles jumps in his seat a little.

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles sighs out as Derek walks into the kitchen. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Derek says with a smirk, making himself some coffee.

“Yeah, you look real sorry,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at Derek. “Have we got eggs?”

Scott jumps off the stool and sticks his head into the fridge. “Uh, no.” He stands up, rubbing his face with one hand. “There’s some peppers and mustard. Are you guys living on take out?”

“No, jackass. It’s Saturday, we do groceries on Saturday.” Stiles heads over to the cupboard and grabs an almost empty box of Lucky Charms. “Want some?” he asks, shaking the box in Scott’s face.

“You do groceries on Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, clamping a hand on Scott’s shoulder as he passes by him.

“Oh God, you guys are _so_ domestic,” Scott groans, his head hitting the counter. “I’m not awake enough to deal with this.”

Stiles smirks at Derek over Scott’s head, laughing when Derek rolls his eyes like he used to back when they were in high school. Their eyes meet and Derek grins for a moment before coughing and turning around to examine the shopping list on the fridge door.

“Did you add detergent,” Stiles calls over, ignoring the slight flush on the back of Derek’s neck. “Because my sheets are starting to stink.”

“Starting?”

“Hey, I don’t have wolf senses. You want me to wash my sheets more often, you have to use your words.”

Derek turns around and raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “Fine,” he says with a smirk. “Stiles, your sheets stink.”

“Go and put a shirt on, douche,” Stiles says, chewing on the inside of his mouth to stop himself from grinning. “We’re going to be mobbed by co-eds while you’re picking out your organic, hand fed, chopped up cow.”

“Organic tastes better.”

“As long as you pay for it, buddy, you can buy what you want,” Stiles shouts as Derek walks off towards his bedroom, flipping Stiles off as he goes. Stiles laughs, stuffing the empty box of Lucky Charms in the trash before tapping Scott on the shoulder. “Dude, it’s a student town, but I’m not being seen with you in public while you’re wearing pyjamas.”

“What?” Scott mumbles into his arms.

“Groceries. Time to get dressed.”

“Ugh.” Scott lifts his head and blinks. “Does this mean I have to listen to you and Derek flirting over phallic shaped vegetables?”

Stiles’ cheeks flush and he shakes his head. “We don’t—get dressed,” he snaps, feeling bad the instant it leaves his mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“Forget it,” Scott says around a yawn. “We’re good.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

*

“No.”

“What? What’s wrong with chocolate peanut butter Pop Tarts?” Stiles grins, holding them behind his back as he takes a few steps away from Derek.

“They’re not food, Stiles.”

“Peanut butter is a food. Chocolate is a food,” Stiles waves the box in Derek’s face. “Look, it says it has 6 vitamins and minerals.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek says, with a pained face. “No.”

Stiles quickly throws them at Scott. “Put them in the cart,” he says, laughing when Derek makes a dive for Scott and fails to stop him. “Yes!” Stiles yells, fistpumping the air. “They’re in the cart, they can’t be taken out.” He points over at Derek and grins. “You made the rules.”

“I’m regretting every second I spent with you,” Derek says with a small smile.

“Lie,” Scott says casually, leaning against the cart.

“Good to know,” Stiles says, his eyes on Derek. “Come on, time to hit the meat counter and let you stock up on pounds and pounds of well bred dead animals.”

“You realise you eat those dead animals as well, right?” Derek asks as he pushes the cart down the aisle.

“Yep, but I like making fun of you,” Stiles says, grabbing another box of Pop Tarts from the shelf. He tosses them in the cart and walks backwards, narrowly avoiding crashing into the stack of boxed mac and cheese at the end of the aisle. “What?” he asks when Derek rolls his eyes at him.

“Try and avoid ending up in the food,” Derek says with a smirk, heading towards the meat counter, leaving Scott and Stiles dawdling by the boxes.

Scott laughs and Stiles shoots him a glare. “Traitor.”

“Me?” Scott points at himself and makes a face. “I’m an innocent bystander. You’re the ones being weird.”

“We’re not weird,” Stiles protests, glancing over at where Derek is pointing out what cuts of meat he wants. Something settles in his chest and he shakes his head. So they’re domestic. They live together. If anything, the fact that they’ve managed to make this work should be congratulated. Before he realises what he’s doing, Stiles joins Derek at the counter, leaning into him slightly and—this isn’t something they do in public. They keep these casual touches inside, at the apartment, protective of whatever kind of fragile relationship they’ve been building.

When Stiles looks up, Scott’s staring at them with wide eyes, but he turns his head away when Stiles catches him looking.

Derek’s shoulders have lost the stiffness they always carry in public, and Stiles is sure it should feel like he’s playing with fire. Instead it feels _right_.

*

“Scott, wake up.” Stiles looks down at Scott and taps him on the head. “Wake up. Cartoon day.” A snort comes from the kitchen where Derek’s making coffee and Stiles huffs in response, waving a hand in the air. “Well?” he says. “What else am I meant to do?”

“Hold this,” Derek says, coming out of the kitchen and handing Stiles both mugs of coffee. He crouches down by Scott’s head and lets his eyes bleed red, his fangs elongating. The rumbling noise coming from Derek’s chest makes Stiles want to curl up on it and he shakes his head as Derek lets his voice drop to a growl. “Scott, wake up.”

Scott shoots up on the couch, his hair mussed, blinking furiously and Stiles is laughing so hard, he’s on the verge of spilling coffee everywhere. Derek gets to his feet and takes both mugs from Stiles before he can do any damage. He leans against the breakfast bar with a smirk on his face and raises an eyebrow when Scott looks over at him.

“Not cool, dude. Not cool,” Scott sighs as he rubs his eyes. “Why are you both only wearing boxers?”

“Because it’s Sunday,” Stiles says with a shrug.

“And on Sunday you don’t wear clothes?”

“No, Sunday morning is cartoons. Cartoons mean not getting dressed. So, Sunday mornings and cartoons means boxers.”

“I swear to God, it’s like I’m in another universe,” Scott says as he stands up. “I’m going to take a leak.”

“Thanks for the information, dude,” Stiles calls as he sinks into the couch, still warm from Scott’s body. He’s still kind of sleepy and his eyes droop a little until Derek sits next to him, handing over Stiles’ mug of coffee. “Hey,” Stiles says, their thighs pressing together. “Did you make one for Scott?”

“Nope.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yep,” Derek says, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Stiles hides a smile in his mug and kicks Derek’s ankle until he lets out a groan and stretches over to switch the television on, handing an XBox controller to Stiles.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, nudging Derek with his shoulder and flicking through their recently watched on Netflix until he reaches Rugrats. “Good? Or do you want to start Johnny Bravo?”

Derek shakes his head and slumps down, a lazy smile on his face. “Rugrats.”

“You do know Angelica isn’t a leadership role model right?” Stiles says, glancing over at Derek.

“Shut up.”

“When, exactly, do you think that will work on me?” Stiles responds, shivering slightly when a breeze follows Scott walking back into the room.

“Blanket?” Derek asks, glancing at Stiles.

“What do I need a blanket for when I have you?” Stiles grins before leaning into the warmth of Derek’s body. “What?” Stiles says when he hears Scott let out a snort.

“Nothing, dude,” Scott says, helping himself to coffee before sitting in the empty armchair. “Rugrats? Awesome.”

Stiles huffs and grins when Derek ignores the look on Scott’s face in favour of wrapping an arm around Stiles, pulling him against his body. It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome, and Stiles tentatively rests his head against Derek’s shoulder. He brings his mug up to his mouth and takes a sip of his coffee, his left hand tapping a pattern against Derek’s leg as the next episode of Rugrats starts.

When they’re four episodes in, Scott bites into a Pop Tart and says, “Hey, did you guys ever hear the theory that all of this is in Angelica’s mind and that really all the babies are dead or something?”

“Why would you say that?” Stiles groans, pushing his face into Derek’s neck. “Dude, that’s not—that’s so wrong.”

Derek laughs, moving his hand and rubbing his fingers gently against the nape of Stiles’ neck. His touch feels stupidly good, and Stiles would feel guilty about how much he’s enjoying it, but it’s early and he doesn’t want to tax his brain with thinking hard thoughts.

*

“Call me when you get back, okay?” Stiles says as Scott hugs him goodbye.

“Yeah,” Scott claps a hand on Stiles’ back before letting go. “Skype me when you and the big guy finally sort out what your mutual snuggling means.”

Stiles pushes Scott’s shoulder, knocking him off balance slightly. “Leave, now, before you lose all best friend privileges.” Scott laughs before he turns to leave. “Hey,” Stiles calls after him. “Tell my dad that we’re doing okay. Me and Derek, I mean. I’ll call him next week.”

“Yeah. Hey, you know he’s been hanging out with my mom?”

“He said. Weird, huh?”

“Kind of. Think they’re dating?”

Stiles makes a face and fakes a shudder. “I don’t really want to think about either of our parents dating.”

“Hey, we could be actual brothers.”

“And yet that’s still not enough for me to move past the traumatic idea of my dad dating,” Stiles says. “You should go, you won’t make it back before midnight if you don’t.”

Scott slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Say bye to Derek for me when he gets back from his run.”

“Before or after he gets in the shower?”

“I... don’t even know what to say to that. Except thanks for the nightmares.”

“You’re the one who talked about our parents dating. Call it revenge,” Stiles laughs as Scott flips him off and walks away. Closing the door, Stiles glances around the room, sighing at the sight of the blankets still strewn across the couch, and the Pop Tart wrappers on the floor. He’s suddenly sure he should’ve made Scott clean up after himself before he left. Pushing himself away from the door, he starts to fold up the blankets, idly wondering when Derek will be back.

*

“Where the hell did you run to?” Stiles says when Derek finally walks through the door two hours later. “Vegas?”

Derek doesn’t even have the decency to be a sweaty mess, there’s only a thin sheen over his skin that Stiles knows will dry soon. He ignores Stiles and walks into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Stiles can’t take his eyes off the way Derek’s mouth wraps around it, how his throat moves as he chugs the water, and he knows the way he’s staring is totally shameless. Though, considering Derek is shirtless, with his running shorts barely clinging to his hips, Stiles thinks he could be a lot worse. At least he’s not drooling. Or licking. Licking would probably negate the need for a conversation about the bond.

“So?” Stiles asks when Derek throws the bottle in the recycling box. “Where’d you go?”

“Around.”

“For two hours?” Stiles says, moving towards the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Derek says dismissively. “I’m going to shower.” He brushes past Stiles as he heads to the bathroom, his bulk knocking Stiles against the wall and—.

Stiles bites his lip and hops onto the counter, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. He’s not—that _hurt_ , and he’s not too proud to admit it. Derek hasn’t been like that with him in years. Resting his chin on his knees, Stiles tries not to think about it, but his brain won’t co-operate and he doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like Derek was outright rude, but that’s not—they don’t _do_ this. Not anymore.

He’s still on the counter in the exact same position when he hears Derek coming out of the bathroom, listens to the slightly harsh slam of his bedroom door and—okay, fine. Stiles slides off the counter and heads for the couch, picking up his 3DS from the floor and switching it on in an attempt to ignore the world.

Derek doesn’t emerge from his bedroom for over an hour, by which time Stiles is curled up in one corner of the couch. He doesn’t notice Derek until the lights are switched on, and he looks up, blinking against the sudden brightness. “Uh. Hi,” Stiles says as Derek sits next to him. “You okay?”

Derek doesn’t look at him, but he nods slowly. “Have you had dinner?”

“No, I didn’t know if you—I can make something?”

“There’s some pre-made burgers in the fridge.”

“Okay.” Stiles stands up, awkwardness flooding through him as he resists the urge to twist his fingers together. “Fries?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Stiles busies himself in the kitchen, letting out a heavy sigh when Derek switches the television on and starts to channel surf. He slices the burger buns and throws them under the grill for a few minutes to make them crispy. Normally Derek would be in here with him, arguing with him over sauces to use, how long to leave the burgers under the grill and Stiles—he doesn’t want this to be their life, doesn’t want this to be how they interact.

When the food is done, he fills two plates and walks out of the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he sees Derek is asleep, his face slack and the remote falling out of his hand. Stiles puts the plates down on the coffee table and shifts from foot to foot, unable to decide if he should wake Derek. He hates the idea of Derek not getting the sleep he constantly seems to need, but Derek also gets seriously short tempered when he doesn’t eat.

The decision is taken out of his hands when Derek stirs, his nostrils flaring for a moment before his eyes open slowly. He frowns up at Stiles and shakes his head like he’s knocking the sleep out of his brain. “Food?” he asks in a croak, pulling himself back into a sitting position.

“Yeah, yes.” Stiles hands him his plate and shrugs. “It should still be warm,” he says, picking up his own plate and hovering slightly, not sure if he’s welcome to sit with Derek given how weird he’s been acting.

“Stiles, sit down and eat,” Derek says around a mouthful of fries.

They eat in silence, MSNBC on in the background, and Stiles hates that it’s not a comfortable silence. For the first time since they moved in together Stiles feels uneasy being in the same room as Derek. He really doesn’t like it.

*

Monday morning finds Stiles staring up at his ceiling wondering if Derek will come and wake him up like he has every Monday since the semester started. Groaning, he rolls onto his side and watches his clock, the numbers glowing at him in the dark.

“Stiles?” Derek knocks on the door as he pushes it open and Stiles quickly closes his eyes. He listens to Derek’s light footsteps as he crosses the room, the light rustle of his pyjama bottoms as he crouches by the bed. “Stiles, I know you’re awake,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out, opening his eyes. He bites his bottom lip as Derek watches him, wanting to close his eyes again to avoid Derek’s gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Lie.”

Stiles huffs and rolls all the way over, turning his back on Derek. “Can you not bring your wolf powers into this?”

“Stiles, I—what do you want from me?” Derek asks in a helpless tone, a tone that Stiles has never heard from him before.

The problem is that Stiles doesn’t know how to answer that. He doesn’t _know_ what he wants from Derek. Which—that’s kind of a lie. He knows, in the very basest sense, what he wants from Derek, but that’s not what Derek’s asking. Stiles shakes his head, his heart pounding in his chest, and he tries to speak but nothing comes out. There’s movement from behind him, and he’s almost sure Derek is going to walk out, but he doesn’t. He climbs onto the bed and curls himself behind Stiles, his arm hovering above Stiles’ waist.

“This okay?” Derek whispers.

When Stiles nods, Derek drops his arm, placing his hand against Stiles’ chest. It should be suffocating, the heavy weight of all that they are, of all that they could be, but instead it’s comforting and it slots something in place in his heart. He leans back against Derek and closes his eyes. “I can blow off one day of classes, right?” he says in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Derek says, his nose pressed up against Stiles’ neck, rubbing the tips of his fingers against Stiles’ chest in small circles.

*

Stiles wakes up to Derek’s slack face millimeters away from his; Derek’s eyelashes are casting shadows on his cheeks and his lips are slightly parted. Stiles sucks in a breath at the sight, before realising that Derek’s arms are looped around his waist, that’s he’s holding Stiles close even in sleep. When Derek makes a rumbling noise in his chest, Stiles stifles a smile and waits for him to open his eyes. It takes Derek a moment to get his bearings when he does and his body goes stiff, like he doesn’t want to be with Stiles and—nope, Stiles cannot deal with this. He pushes against Derek’s chest and tries to get away.

“No, Stiles, I didn’t—” Derek says, holding him steady. “Stop, please.”

It’s the use of ‘please’ that makes Stiles relax. “Okay,” he says, calming down and trying to avoid Derek’s eyes. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to stop touching you?”

“No,” Stiles mutters.

“Okay,” Derek says cautiously, his arms loosening around Stiles nonetheless.

Stiles rolls onto his back and turns his head to meet Derek’s eyes. “Do we need to talk about this?”

“We should,” Derek says.

“Yeah. You start,” Stiles says with a small smile. “What does this bond mean?”

“You want to know everything?”

“When have I ever not wanted to know everything?” Stiles says, tentatively stroking a finger down Derek’s arm where it’s flung across his stomach.

“True.” Derek moves closer to Stiles, tangling their legs together. “I don’t know much,” he says. “It’s not binding, not yet. If you could cope with the headaches and the nausea, then spending time apart would make it fade, but—I don’t want you to go through that.”

“It’s bad?”

“I don’t know.”

“So...”

“So I don’t want you to be in pain, Stiles.”

“Oh.”

“If you. If we—” Derek breaks off in frustration and closes his eyes.

Stiles wraps a hand over Derek’s forearm and squeezes lightly. “Derek—it’s just you and me here.”

“Is it?”

“I—yeah. Yeah, it is,” Stiles says. “Hey. Open your eyes.” Derek does, and Stiles’ mouth goes dry when he sees the uncertainty in them. “We work, right? We have been working?”

“Yeah.”

“And I, y’know, don’t find you objectionable,” he says with a grin. “So there’s that.” He shifts onto his side and rests his head on his arm, staring at Derek. “This isn’t about the bond. The bond isn’t important,” Stiles says quietly, touching Derek’s face. “This is about us. About what we want. So, the question is, what do you want?”

Derek leans forward, brushing his mouth against Stiles’ lips. “This. I want this. I want you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Derek rests his hands against Stiles’ back and pulls him in, closing the tiny gap between them. It’s like Stiles’ entire world changes when Derek kisses him, the twisted feeling in his stomach from last night melts away and he’s left with the softness of Derek’s lips against his, the rough edge of Derek’s stubble underneath his fingertips where he’s stroking Derek’s face.

They kiss slowly, chastely, until Stiles’ hands slip to Derek’s shoulders and he tugs at him as he rolls onto his back. Derek’s body presses Stiles into the mattress, forearms cradling Stiles’ head. It’s amazing having Derek above him, his body a solid, heavy weight against Stiles and Stiles is almost giddy with it. There’s a feeling of _finally_ flowing through him as he kisses Derek, running his hands along Derek’s back and gasping against Derek’s mouth when he feels the soft, heated skin under his fingers.

After a moment, Derek pulls away and rests their foreheads together. There’s a small smile on his face and Stiles matches it, the relief on his face shining through.

“You good?”

“So good,” Stiles says, moving a hand up to Derek’s neck, running his fingers through Derek’s hair. He mock groans when Derek falls forward, laughing as Derek rubs his stubble against Stiles’ neck. “Oh awesome,” he says. “I get to go to classes with stubble burn tomorrow.”

Derek turns his head, placing a soft kiss against the hinge of Stiles’ jaw. It’s so gentle, so much more intimate than anything Stiles has ever experienced before that he doesn’t have words for how it feels. Stiles holds Derek tightly and kisses whatever part of him he can reach. He’s got no idea what time it is, his blackout blinds are doing their job, but he doesn’t particularly care—all he wants is to stay like this, with Derek, for as long as he can.

*

When Stiles wakes up again, Derek is on his side, propping up his head with his hand as he gazes down at Stiles. His other hand is underneath Stiles’ top, splayed against his skin, and Stiles slowly smiles at the feel of Derek tracing patterns with his fingers.

“Hi,” Stiles says, his voice rough with sleep. His whole body twitches when Derek’s fingers graze the skin below his navel. “How long have I been out?”

“Not long,” says Derek, removing his hand from under Stiles’ shirt.

Nodding, Stiles yawns and grabs Derek’s hand, threading their fingers together. With the door closed, he can pretend there isn’t another world out there, and he likes that. He laughs when Derek slides a leg over his hips and curls in closer. Mouthing at Stiles’ jaw, Derek’s tongue occasionally darts out to lick at the skin and Stiles lets out a strangled moan when Derek’s lips meet the corner of his mouth.

Turning his head to meet Derek’s lips, Stiles feels a spark jolting through his spine as they kiss, the heat of Derek’s mouth flooding his senses. There’s something there that’s just out of reach, and Stiles doesn’t quite understand what it is, thinks it has something to do with the bond. It’s bright, warm, and it makes him feel—loved.

The rasp of Derek’s stubble against his skin jolts him out of that, and he pulls back, needing some distance before what they’re doing spills over into something else. “I, um. Food?” he suggests. “We should—not that I want to leave this room, but.”

“Hey,” Derek says, nosing at Stiles’ neck and inhaling his scent. “Calm down. Your heart rate is manic.”

“Yeah? Well. You can take some of the blame for that.”

Derek lifts his head and grins at Stiles. “Gladly,” he says and, oh, Stiles is absolutely sure he’ll never get over Derek’s face when he smiles. He touches the faint lines on Derek’s face and runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, laughing fondly when Derek leans into the touch.

“You want to cook?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek says, rolling off the bed. “Thai?”

“Yeah.” Stiles reaches his hands up and raises his eyebrows when Derek shakes his head. He widens his eyes and pouts, grinning when Derek gives in with a sigh and pulls him off the bed. “Thank you,” he says, kissing Derek’s cheek.

“Come on,” says Derek, hustling him out of the bedroom.

Stiles places their usual order at the Thai place because even now, Derek still isn’t great with talking to strangers, though Stiles is sure that when you have a regular order, they’re not strangers anymore. When he hangs up the phone, Derek lays down on the couch, nestling his head in Stiles’ lap before reaching up and taking Stiles’ hand, placing it in his hair.

“Demanding puppy,” Stiles smirks as he threads his fingers through the dark locks.

“M’not a puppy,” Derek grumbles as he stretches his legs out.

“Sure.”

“Stiles.”

“Okay, okay, not a puppy,” Stiles bops him on the nose and laughs at the expression on Derek’s face. “Want to watch anything?”

“No, I’m good.”

Stiles tugs at Derek’s hair. “Me too.”

*

Finals come up quicker than either of them expected and Stiles hates that all of a sudden he has to put a hold on the glorious amount of making and groping he and Derek have been doing in order to study.

Derek’s way of coping involves going out for runs. Long, long runs that he goes on while Stiles stares at his laptop screen and attempts to go over his notes. He says it’s so that Stiles won’t get distracted, but Stiles is sure he gets more distracted when Derek isn’t around than when he is. Derek grounds him, and okay, occasionally he gets distracted by Derek’s _everything_ and has to take a study break to kiss him, but that beats sitting around and staring at the walls.

There have been nights where they’ve both been studying, pizza going cold on the floor while they go through their notes, Derek rubbing his hand across his face and letting out these little sighs that Stiles finds unbelievably cute. Stiles never thought it would be like this, never thought he’d be satisfied by lounging on the couch with Derek and poking Derek’s bare leg with his foot.

He’s halfway through his sociology notes when Derek comes home, and he tries to keep focused as Derek walks into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, but it’s totally futile. Still, it’s not until Derek comes up behind him, close enough that Stiles can feel the heat radiating off his body, that he gives him his full attention.

Stiles tilts his head back and grins at Derek. “Hi,” he says, spinning around on his chair. “How was your run?”

“Good.” Derek bends down and kisses Stiles, his hands resting on Stiles’ thighs. “Get any studying done?” he asks when they separate.

“Yeah. It’s easier when you’re here though.”

Derek smirks, running his hands up Stiles’ legs. “Really?”

“Uh huh.” Stiles instinctively spreads his legs as Derek kneels on the floor, his eyes widening when Derek’s hands reach the waistband of his jeans. He’s got a pretty decent idea of where this is going, but they’ve never done this before, haven’t got past rutting against each other and—holy crap that’s Derek going for his zipper.

Derek’s tugging Stiles’ zipper down before looking up at him with a smile. “You want this?”

Stiles laughs breathlessly. “Jesus, Derek, yes.” He shifts just enough for Derek to pull down his pants, a groan slipping out of his mouth when Derek ducks his head and starts mouthing at his crotch. Stiles squirms on the chair as the combination of pre-come and Derek’s saliva starts to dampen the fabric of his boxers. “Derek,” he whines. “Get them off.”

“Hmm?” Derek lifts his head and grins. “Get what off?”

“Asshole,” says Stiles. He stands up and pushes his boxers down his hips, a smirk on his face when Derek’s eyes immediately lower to look at his cock. Stiles sits down and kicks his clothing off before leaning back in the chair, raising his eyebrows at Derek.

“That was—”

“Well played? Yeah. I know.”

Derek laughs, inching forward on his knees. “You sure you want to play this with me?” he says, his hot breath hitting Stiles’ cock.

“Really am,” groans Stiles when Derek wraps a hand around the base of his cock and places a feather light kiss against the head. Stiles whines and shifts restlessly. “Derek, come on.”

“Come on? Oh, you want me to do this?”

“Holy fu-uck,” Stiles gasps as Derek ducks his head and swallows him down. His hands clench as he looks down at the top of Derek’s head. The heat of Derek’s mouth is insane, and Stiles tries so hard not to shove his hips up, but the feel of Derek’s tongue against his dick almost makes him lose it. There’s spit slipping out the corners of Derek’s mouth and it’s so sloppy, but fucking _wonderful_ , and Stiles is one hundred percent sure Derek’s mouth is the best thing on the entire planet. Stiles places a hand on Derek’s head and tugs lightly on his hair. “Derek, Derek, close.”

Derek’s digging his fingers into Stiles’ thigh and he lets out a soft moan when Stiles puts a hand over his. Turning his hand over, Derek links their fingers together, his mouth still working Stiles’ cock, and Stiles swears loudly at the sudden feel of Derek pressing his tongue just underneath the head of his dick and—that’s it, he’s coming, his hand gripping Derek’s tightly.

“Jesus fuck,” Stiles pants out as his cock slips from Derek’s mouth. There’s a huge smile on Derek’s face as he lifts his head and Stiles can’t help but lean down and kiss him, their hands still joined. Stiles searches out the slightly bitter taste of himself in Derek’s mouth, one hand on the back of Derek’s neck as he holds him there.

“How’s that for a distraction?” Derek mumbles against Stiles’ lips when they separate.

“Worked for me,” Stiles says. He gives Derek’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Only if you want to,” says Derek.

Stiles grins, already slipping to his knees and reaching for Derek’s running shorts. Kissing Derek softly, he sticks his hand inside them and wraps a hand around Derek’s cock, enjoying the way Derek lets out a broken moan against his mouth. Stiles looks down, pushing the shorts out of the way and licking his lips when Derek’s dick springs free. He’s starting to wonder if it’s possible to fall in love with someone else’s cock, because that’s kind of how he’s feeling with Derek’s right now. Meeting Derek’s eyes, Stiles presses a soft kiss against his cheek and leans in, resting his hands against Derek’s thighs.

There’s a small sigh from Derek’s mouth before he nuzzles his face against Stiles’, and Stiles is suddenly overwhelmed with how much he wants this. How much he wants _Derek_ , and not just now, but for however long he can have him. Stiles feels overwhelmed and he holds Derek’s face in his hands, kissing him fiercely, sucking Derek’s bottom lip into his mouth. He locks eyes with Derek when he pulls away, spitting in his hand and reaching down to grasp Derek’s cock.

Stiles is captivated by the way Derek’s cheeks flush underneath his stubble as Stiles explores Derek’s uncut dick, and he’s not sure Derek has ever looked hotter than he does at this moment. Little gasps escape Derek’s mouth as Stiles exposes the head of Derek’s cock, ghosting his thumb across it and smearing pre-come around. Smiling softly when he notices Derek’s hands clenching, his breathing getting ragged, Stiles leans forward to whisper “you gonna come?” in Derek’s ear. Derek’s reaction is instantaneous, letting out a strangled groan and his cock pulses in Stiles’ hand as he comes.

Stiles wipes his hand on Derek’s shorts before wrapping his arms around Derek, one hand travelling up Derek’s back to stroke the nape of his neck. “That was fun.”

“Understatement.”

Stiles smiles, rubbing his face against Derek’s skin. “Not only have you distracted me, we’re now all sweaty.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, his hands roaming underneath Stiles’ shirt.

“Want to do something about that?”

Derek turns his head and licks Stiles’ neck. “Like what?”

“Like, getting up? Showering?”

“You smell good.”

“Maybe to your nose.”

“Only one that matters,” says Derek, nudging against Stiles’ face until their mouths meet. Stiles threads his fingers through Derek’s hair, tugging lightly as they kiss and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be over how Derek _opens_ to him like this. How it’s so easy for them to kiss now, like they’ve been doing it for years instead of weeks.

“Are we going back to Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving?” Stiles asks when he pulls away.

“It’s up to you,” Derek says as he makes to stand up. Grimacing when he touches the drying come on his shorts, he tugs them back up over his hips and helps Stiles to his feet.

“We have to study,” Stiles says, abandoning his pants and boxers on the floor.

“I know. We’ll go back for Christmas, your dad will understand.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs.

Derek takes Stiles’ hand and kisses it softly. “Think about it in the shower.”

*

Stiles sits on the counter, throwing bits of rolled up paper towels at Derek while he waits for his dad to answer the phone. Laughing at the way Derek ignores his attack, Stiles startles when he hears his dad’s voice down the line.

“Stiles?”

“Hey! Dad, hey.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Stiles runs a hand over his head. “Derek and I, we were talking and we—it looks like we can’t make it back for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.”

“I’m really sorry, dad. I, both of us, we wanted to come back and see everyone, but finals, y’know?”

His dad sighs. “It’s okay, kid. I thought that might be the case. Melissa’s holding a place for me at her table if I need it, or I can pick up a shift.”

“Don’t work on Thanksgiving, dad, jeez. We’ll be back at Christmas. Exhausted and delirious from school, but we’ll be there. Don’t be surprised if we stay in bed for a whole day.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone until his dad says, “I really didn’t need to know that.”

“Not like _that_ , oh my God. I didn’t mean—I’m going to stop talking.”

“Wise choice,” his dad says wryly. “You and Derek, though. You’re okay?”

“Yeah, yes,” Stiles looks over at Derek with a smile. “We’re great.” He pouts when he realises he’s run out of paper towels to throw and shrugs. “It’s—we’re working.”

“Good,” his dad says after a pause. “Good. Okay. I’ll see you both for Christmas. Love you, son.”

“Love you too, dad.” Stiles ends the call and puts his phone on the counter. “He says he’s fine with us missing Thanksgiving.”

“Told you he would be,” Derek says, stirring the pasta.

“Yeah, okay, you are wise and all knowing.”

Derek looks up from the pot and grins. “Don’t forget it.”

*

“You’re not coming back for Thanksgiving then?” Scott asks over Skype.

“Finals,” Stiles says, one hand tugging at the ends of his hair. “We wanted to, but it’s—”

“I get it, don’t worry.” Scott shoots him a smile. “You’re gonna come for Christmas, right? I think Isaac is starting to get separation issues from Derek.”

Stiles snorts at the sound of Isaac yelling at Scott to shut up. “We’ll be back, yeah. And tell Isaac he can call Derek, or even visit next year.”

“I will,” Scott grins. He looks behind him and nods before turning back to the screen. “I’ve gotta go eat. Talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, waving a hand at the webcam as Scott rings off. Closing Skype, he clicks on his Criminal Law notes, one hand fumbling for his Mets coffee mug as he scrolls down the page.

He gets through the first four pages before there’s a knock on his bedroom door and Derek sticks his head around it, a small smile on his face. “Hey,” Derek says. “You done with Scott?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles says absently. “Come here.”

Derek walks over and climbs on the bed, laying down and crossing his legs at the ankles. “How’s your studying going?” he asks, rubbing a hand against Stiles’ back.

“Could do with a break,” Stiles says, closing his laptop and turning around.

“Really?”

“Yep.” Stiles puts his mug and laptop on the floor and stretches out next to Derek, draping an arm across him, hiding a smile when Derek’s hand instinctively slips under his tshirt. “This is a good study break.”

“For me too,” Derek says, tracing patterns against Stiles’ skin.

“Look at us, worrying over finals instead of evil beings.”

“S’nice.”

“Yeah it is.”

Tucking his head underneath Derek’s chin, Stiles takes a deep breath, inhaling Derek’s scent. It’s not like he can sense scents like the wolves do, but there’s still comfort in doing it, in having the familiar scent of Derek around him. He slides a hand underneath Derek’s henley to get at his soft skin. There’s an addiction to it, like his fingers are always itching with the need to feel the warm skin that covers solid muscle. Pressing the tips of his fingers against Derek’s stomach, Stiles grins, hiding his face against Derek’s chest.

“You’re thinking,” Derek says.

“Always am.”

“You’re meant to be taking a break.”

“Not thinking about studying.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“The fact that I can’t mark you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stiles lets his fingers run lightly over Derek’s side, sighing a little when Derek gives a full bodied shiver. “Wondering what it’d be like to send you out in the world with my hickies on you.”

“I—I’d like that,” Derek says. “I could. I can control it, a little. The healing.”

“You can?”

“Yeah. If you really want it.”

Stiles pushes himself up and looks down at Derek, kissing him softly before running a hand across Derek’s face. “You’re good to me,” he says quietly.

*

Thanksgiving is quiet for them; Derek cooks a turkey crown, mashed potatoes the way his dad taught him, and Stiles makes the mac & cheese his mom used to make. There’s store bought pie, and it’s not like it would be at home, but it’s theirs and it still means something.

After dinner, they curl up on the couch and Stiles lists all the things he’s thankful for, considering it an accomplishment whenever he manages to make Derek turn red. Stiles loves it when Derek’s skin flushes, wants to kiss his heated skin whenever it happens. He gives in to the urge a few times until they’re lazily making out on the couch, the dull sounds of the television echoing in the room. 

*

Derek’s last final is two days before Stiles’, and when Derek turns up after Stiles’ Criminology final with a large coffee in his hand, Stiles feels guilty about not having done the same for Derek after his. Not enough to ignore the coffee, but still kind of guilty.

Discarding the paper cup after chugging the coffee, Stiles turns around and curls into Derek’s chest. “You’re the best,” he says, words muffled against Derek’s sweater.

“You ready to go home?”

“Yeah.”

“We leave tomorrow,” Derek says, one hand on the back of Stiles’ head, fingers mussed in his hair. “Should be back in Beacon Hills before dinner.”

“Mmm, good. I’ll call dad, tell him he has time to hide the junk food.”

Derek lets out a laugh, his neck tilting back and Stiles pulls away a little to stare at him. When Derek catches him, he raises his eyebrows at Stiles, “What?”

“Nothing. You—you’re really pretty.”

“And that’s a sign we should go home.” Derek takes Stiles’ hand and tugs him towards the car, helping him to get it when he almost hits his head against the frame. Stiles can’t remember _ever_ being this tired before, not even when he was spending most of his time in fear for his life.

When they pull up to the apartment, Derek steers him through the door, sits him on the couch and calls for pizza. Stiles knows he’s staring blankly into space, but he’s not sure he can focus on anything right now. It’s all blurry and if it weren’t for his need to eat, he would already be passed out.

“You want to shower?” Derek asks. Stiles shakes his head in response and Derek pulls him to his feet, ignoring Stiles’ whine of protest. “Go and get changed,” Derek says, brushing his lips against Stiles’ forehead. “We’ll eat the pizza in bed.”

“Your bed?”

“Our bed,” Derek says quietly and, oh. That’s new. Stiles cups Derek’s jaw with one hand and kisses him quickly, giving him a smile before shuffling off to his room to get changed.

Pulling on an old, threadbare pair of BHHS sweatpants and a soft t shirt he thinks is actually Derek’s, Stiles sits down on the edge of his bed for a moment. Rubbing his eyes, he takes a second to collect himself before he gets back up and walks over to Derek’s room. Their room.

Stiles likes that Derek thinks of his room as theirs, that it’s a space they share rather than being Derek’s alone. He’s not stupid, he’s noticed more of his clothes ending up in Derek’s room and he has a side of the bed with his charger plugged into the socket almost permanently. He sleeps there most nights—only sleeping, occasionally fooling around, but not fucking. Stiles isn’t sure what it is that’s making both of them cautious; maybe it’s that Derek wants to make sure they’re both in this for good before they make this bond permanent, and Stiles wants Derek to be comfortable with what they do, so he doesn’t push.

Stiles crashes onto the bed and rubs his face against the pillow, digging his fingers into the softness. Whenever he does that with Derek in the room, Derek always strokes a hand down his back, teasingly saying that Stiles is more of a wolf than he wants to admit. Stiles knows he’s picked it up from everyone around him and he kind of likes it, enjoys the idea of his scent mixing with Derek’s. He definitely likes the look on Derek’s face whenever he notices that Stiles is wearing one of his shirts. It’s fragile, like he can’t believe Stiles would want to mix their scents together, to become part of something that’s _them_.

“Hey,” Stiles says when Derek comes into the room holding the pizza box, two beers in his other hand. He rolls onto his back and sits up, a small smile on his face. “You’re giving me beer?”

Derek rests one knee on the bed and hands Stiles the bottles. “One,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching when Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You’re worse than my dad, you know that?” Stiles puts the beers on the bedside table and takes the box, opening it and inhaling the doughy, cheesy smell.

“You mean he’d like it if I got his son drunk illegally?” Derek says, climbing onto the bed and crossing his legs.

“Two beers wouldn’t get me drunk, Derek. That takes Jager at the very least,” Stiles says with a smirk.

“Excuse me?”

“Freshman year,” Stiles shrugs, picking up a slice. “There were parties.”

Derek raises an eyebrow and takes a slice of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you miss it?” he says after swallowing.

“Miss what?”

“Parties. Since I—since we—you haven’t been doing that.”

“Because I did it already.” Stiles grabs his beer and takes a swig. “I like what we’ve been doing. Even before we became us, it was good to have you here. Having someone around after classes, someone to make dinner with,” Stiles shrugs. “It’s like a little bit of home.”

“I don’t want to hold you back from what you want to do.”

“Is that why we’ve not completed the bond?” Stiles holds up his hand and shakes his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—if you’re not comfortable with us having sex yet, then okay, but don’t tell me it’s because you have some ridiculous idea of keeping me from doing anything I want to do. Because I love you, but if you haven’t been able to stop me doing things before now, what makes you think that’ll change if we have sex?”

“You love me?”

“That’s what you focus on?” Stiles says, his eyes on Derek. “I do, you know,” he says quietly. “I’m not expecting you to—I mean, you don’t have to say it back. If you want to, then awesome, but—”

“I do love you,” Derek interrupts.

Stiles smiles slowly, dropping his slice of pizza in the box and leaning over to kiss Derek. Getting lost in the heat of their mouths, Stiles’ hands tangle in Derek’s hair as Derek’s tongue teases against his. He groans quietly when Derek nips at his bottom lip before pulling away. Tugging at Derek’s hair, Stiles hums happily and presses a chaste kiss against Derek’s cheek. “Sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Get washed,” Derek says, kissing Stiles’ forehead. “I’ll tidy everything up.”

Stiles nods, his body swaying into Derek for a moment before he climbs off the bed, Derek’s fingers tangling with his and squeezing gently before he lets Stiles walk off towards the bathroom.

Pushing open the bathroom door, Stiles stands in front of the mirror and rubs his face with one hand before reaching for his toothbrush. The sounds of Derek putting things away in the kitchen echo in the apartment as Stiles goes through his bathroom routine, trying not to drip toothpaste on his shirt, blinking in an attempt to stay awake long enough to make it back to the bedroom.

Derek walks in, having discarded his shirt somewhere along the line, and joins Stiles by the sink. “You awake?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, shuffling out of the way to stand behind Derek. He loops his arms around Derek’s waist and rubs his cheek against Derek’s bare skin.

After washing his face and brushing his teeth, Derek dries off with a towel and runs a hand over Stiles’ arm. Reluctantly lifting his head from Derek’s back, Stiles unwinds his arms as Derek turns around. He knows he has a dopey smile on his face, but the corners of Derek’s mouth are twitching and Stiles loves it; he leans in and presses his lips against Derek’s scruff, smiling against the rough texture. “C’mon,” Derek says, linking their hands together and tugging him slowly towards the bedroom.

Stiles practically falls onto the bed, his eyes closing as soon as his head hits the pillow. He smiles when Derek fumbles with the blankets, his hands brushing against Stiles’ legs before he covers them both. Derek curls around Stiles, his facial hair scratching against Stiles’ skin and it feels so _good_ to be with Derek like this.

*

They’re halfway to Beacon Hills when Derek starts to fiddle with the iPod jack, his fingers tangling with the cord. When Stiles glances over at him, he sees the tension in Derek’s shoulders and lets out a sigh, pulling the car over.

“Why are you stopping?”

“Because there’s something wrong with you,” Stiles says, switching the engine off and turning to face Derek.

“No there isn’t.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? The closer we get to Beacon Hills, the more tense you get.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah it is,” Stiles says, reaching over and pressing a hand to Derek’s shoulder. “Tense. See? Seriously, what’s wrong?” Rubbing his fingers against Derek’s neck he chews on his lip. “Do you not want to go back to Beacon Hills?”

“It’s not that,” Derek says, looking over at Stiles.

“Are you going to make me climb onto your lap to get answers?” Stiles asks, slightly exasperated. “Because I don’t actually think I can do that in this car.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“About what?” Stiles asks, his hand slipping down from Derek’s neck to tangle their fingers together.

“About going home, being around everyone.”

“No?” Stiles says slowly, trying to judge Derek’s attitude. “Is this because we’re—together now?

“We haven’t done this with people around,” Derek mumbles.

“Oh.” Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand and smirks. “You’re worried we’ve been in our own little ball of love and going back to Beacon Hills is going to make it crack.”

Derek’s face scrunches up as he looks at Stiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up with barely hidden amusement. “That’s not—really, Stiles?”

“What? S’what you’re saying, right?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that exactly.”

Stiles traces Derek’s knuckles with his finger and shrugs. “It’s not like we don’t know what we’re going back to, what our friends are like. We’ve known about the bond for months, we both knew what it meant. We had to make a choice. We made that choice. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Derek raises their joined hands and brushes his lips against Stiles’ skin. “Let’s go home.”

*

Stiles pushes open the door and drops his keys in the bowl, leaving Derek to carry the bags in. “Dad?” He walks through to the kitchen and looks around. “You home?”

“He’s not here?” Derek asks as Stiles takes a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Apparently not.” Stiles shrugs, twists the cap off the bottle and takes a swig.

“Did you let him know when we’d be here?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Stiles says after swallowing.

“You were pretty out of it yesterday,” Derek says, leaning against the counter.

“I called him this morning while you were in the shower.”

“So call him now.”

Stiles makes a face at Derek, but pulls his phone out anyway. It rings for so long, Stiles is sure he’s going to get voicemail, but then his dad picks up. “Hey, where are you? We just got here. Oh. Yeah, okay. Double it, Derek eats a lot,” Stiles says, sticking his tongue out at Derek when he rolls his eyes. “Okay. Bye dad.” He pockets his phone and walks over to Derek. “He’s picking up take out, his shift ran late.”

“So you didn’t need to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right,” Derek says, pushing off the counter until he’s face to face with Stiles. “That’s why your heart rate sped up when you realised he wasn’t home.”

“Intrusive,” Stiles says before a thought crosses his mind. “Hey, I know you could hear my heart before, but is this—is it heightened now because of the bond?”

“To an extent,” Derek says, looking slightly uncomfortable. “If you’re not near me, I can still sense you, your feelings, but it’s not exact.”

“Is that only because you’re a wolf? Or is it a bond thing?” Stiles’ eyes light up. “Would I be able to sense you after we complete the bond?”

“I don’t know. I never knew anyone who was bonded with a human. It’s... rare. I only ever saw werewolves bonded with other werewolves.”

“I like the idea of being able to sense what you’re feeling,” Stiles says with a wicked grin, pressing his body against Derek and brushing their lips together. “Sounds like that could be useful,” he says quietly. “In a fun way.”

“You think so?” Derek licks his lips, his tongue flicking against Stiles’ mouth as he does so and with a smile, Stiles closes the miniscule gap between them, his tongue sliding against Derek’s as they kiss. Firm hands grip Stiles’ waist and Derek rubs his thumbs in concentric circles against the fabric of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles can feel his skin heating up underneath Derek’s touch and he threads his fingers through Derek’s hair, not wanting to let him go. It doesn’t take long for Derek to slip his hands underneath Stiles’ shirt, soft fingers groping the flushed skin and Stiles wedges his thigh between Derek’s legs, pressing gently against Derek’s crotch. 

There’s the sound of something dropping to the floor and, oh _fuck_. Stiles reluctantly pulls away from Derek and when he looks at Derek’s face he sees the horror he feels reflected in Derek’s eyes. He winces and turns around, Derek’s arms seemingly locked around him in shock. “Hi dad,” Stiles says sheepishly.

The Sheriff raises his eyebrows and sighs. “Hi. Does someone want to help pick the food up?”

Stiles gently pushes away from Derek, mourning the loss of warmth, and bends down to help pick up the scattered cartons. He hides a smile when Derek joins him, taking the cartons from Stiles and putting them on the counter. “Thanks,” Stiles says quietly, catching Derek’s wrist with his hand, stroking the skin softly.

“So,” the Sheriff says, taking a place at the table. “We eating?”

“Yeah, yes.” Stiles tears his gaze away from Derek’s face and gets up. He and Derek dish out the food, leaving the more greasy dishes off the Sheriff’s plate because it’s almost Christmas and he’ll be eating crap soon enough.

There’s a smirk on his dad’s face when they join him at the table and Stiles shakes his head, gesturing at him with one hand. “Go on,” Stiles say. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever embarrassing thing you thought of while we were getting the food ready.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stiles.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at his dad. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well son,” his dad says around a mouthful of noodles. “That’s your problem.”

*

Stiles realises he was right because as soon as they settle in the living room, his dad starts questioning them about the bond.

“Now, you two look happy, but this thing between you—it’s something you both want, yes? It’s not something you’re being magicked into?”

“Magicked into?” Stiles says slowly.

“Well, what the hell do you want me to call it, Stiles? There’s no handbook for what to do when your son is bonded to a werewolf.”

“There’s not exactly a handbook for us either, dad.” Stiles says, glancing at Derek. “We’re kind of playing this by ear, but—it’s real.”

“Really? Because it’s not like you had a great relationship before this.”

Derek’s shoulders stiffen and he leans forward slightly. “Sheriff, I would ne—”

“I’ve told you to call me John, Derek.”

“Sorry,” Derek’s skin flushes slightly. “I care about—I _love_ Stiles, and that’s not because of the bond.” He tightens his grip on Stiles’ hand and relaxes slightly. “If we, if I had left Stiles at school, the bond would’ve died eventually, but we made a choice to be together.”

John nods once, his hands gripping a mug of cocoa. “That the same for you, kid?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “It’s the same for me.”

“Okay,” John says. “Interrogation over. Derek’s staying with us this year?”

“Well, the pack are staying at his place, so...” Stiles trails off, not meeting his dad’s eyes. “Did you get Christmas off?”

“Nice change of subject. And yes, I did. I’m working over New Years instead.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says with a grin. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“Shopping for Christmas dinner?”

“Tomorrow?”

“That’d be helpful.”

Stiles throws up his hands and sighs. “If we’re facing the hordes of Beacon Hills tomorrow, then me and Derek are going to bed now.”

“I’ve got an early shift,” his dad replies, draining the last of his cocoa. “I’ll probably be gone by the time you wake up. Oh, by the way,” he calls as they walk out of the room. “I bought noise cancelling headphones.”

“Oh my God, _Dad_ ,” Stiles groans as he and Derek head up the stairs.

Flopping face first on the bed, Stiles only turns over when he feels Derek’s hand on his leg. “We should’ve kicked the pack out and stayed at your place,” he says, pouting up at Derek.

Derek lies on the bed next to him, his feet resting on the floor as he shifts closer to Stiles. “I like it here. It’s Christmas, Stiles. There’s nowhere else we should be.” Stiles turns his head and stares at Derek. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Stiles.”

“If I told anyone what a sap you are, they’d never believe me,” Stiles says, his cheeks flushing when Derek smiles and links their hands together before bringing them to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips across Stiles’ knuckles. “Yeah,” Stiles says, voice slightly strangled. “Like that.”

*

“Derek, where are we going? The grocery store is in the other direction. Which you know. So, again, where are we going?”

“You need a tree.”

“We have a tree.” And they do—it might be plastic and date from when his mom got sick and couldn’t come tree shopping with them—but it’s a tree and there is no reason for Derek to be giving him that look.

“That’s not a tree. It’s a fire hazard.”

“It is a tree. It’s not the newest tree, but it still counts as a tree.”

Derek pulls the car up outside the Pick Your Own Tree place, switches the engine off and sighs. “Your dad won’t let me pay for Christmas dinner, so let me do this? That _thing_ masquerading as a tree is thinner than the wires on the lights draped over it.”

“Okay, okay, I give in.” Stiles opens the door and climbs out, leaning over the roof of the car as Derek locks it. “But you’re explaining this to my dad,” he says. “And you’re carrying it.” Rounding the car, Stiles leans into Derek and presses a quick kiss against his cheek. “Thanks. We haven’t had a real tree since, since before—” He doesn’t finish the sentence because Derek turns his head, capturing Stiles’ lips in a soft kiss, his hands resting lightly against Stiles’ hips.

“You’re welcome,” Derek says quietly. There’s a small, private smile on his face when he pulls away and Stiles happily returns it before resting their foreheads together. Curling his arms around Derek’s neck, Stiles holds on tightly, brushing their noses together and soaking in the warmth from Derek’s body. “Come on,” Derek says, stepping back and flinging an arm over Stiles’ shoulder. “How big do you want this tree to be?”

“Really big,” Stiles says, reaching up and tangling his fingers with Derek’s. “The biggest one you’ve seen.”

“Stiles, the biggest Christmas tree I’ve seen was the one at Rockefeller Center and that was bigger than your house.”

“Fine, the biggest one I’ve ever seen.” Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek, squawking when Derek attempts to lick his face in response. “Ugh, wolf spit.”

“Shut up and pick out a tree,” Derek says, kissing Stiles’ temple. “We’ve still got groceries to get.”

*

“Where did that come from?” John stops in the doorway and stares, shrugging his jacket off. “Stiles?”

“Derek bought it,” Stiles says from his position on the couch, feet flung in Derek’s lap. He’s freaking exhausted; getting groceries to feed Stilinskis and McCalls at Christmas has always been a battle, even before adding Derek and Isaac to the mix. Stiles still isn’t convinced that Derek didn’t use his werewolf speed to sneak the last extra large sack of potatoes into the cart.

“Oh.”

Stiles watches his father walk into the room, the coloured lights playing across his face. He touches some of the decorations with a look of wonder on his face, and Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. They’re the ones they never put up, the ones his mom loved. Ever since they switched to the fake tree, they’ve kept to the cheap, tacky ones they picked up in the years after her death, saving the delicate, hand made ones for... well, Stiles doesn’t know what for.

“You got your mom’s decorations out?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, Derek’s hand gripping his ankle. “I thought—we have a real tree again and it. They look good, don’t they?”

“They look amazing.” John clears his throat and turns to face the both of them. “Thanks for the tree, Derek.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So,” his dad says, sitting on his recliner. “Did you get everything?”

“We did. You would’ve been very proud of Derek, he didn’t growl at anyone at the grocery store.”

“And you?”

“I growled at an old lady, but she was hogging the yams and totally deserved it,” Stiles says, digging his toes into Derek’s thigh, smiling up at his dad.

“Of course you did,” John sighs. “Who are we hosting this year?”

“You, me, Scott and his mom, Derek obviously, and Isaac. Is that it?”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ leg and nods in confirmation. “Boyd and Erica are with his family, and Cora’s staying with her girlfriend.”

“Lydia and Allison?” John asks as he undoes the laces on his boots.

“Lydia is on a cruise with her mom,” Stiles replies. “Allison and her dad have gone to visit a hopefully non-homicidal member of their family, so it’s just us.”

“When ‘just us’ includes three werewolves and you, who can eat as much as any of them, I think that’s enough.”

“It’ll be nice,” Stiles says, sinking further down into the couch, Derek’s arms curling over his legs, hands stroking against the fabric of his jeans. It’s easy affection, and Stiles didn’t ever think Derek would be so comfortable with showing this affection in front of his _dad_ of all people. There’s a soft smile on Derek’s face as they sit there, the lights from the Christmas tree illuminating the room; Derek and his dad talking in low voices as Stiles closes his eyes. He’s just going to rest, that’s all.

Next thing he knows, Derek is lifting him up, and he would protest about the fact he’s being carried bridal style, but Derek is _comfy_ , and if it means Stiles doesn’t have to walk up the stairs, he’s totally okay with it. He rubs his face against Derek’s shirt and sighs. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“For what?” Derek pushes open Stiles’ bedroom door and puts Stiles on the bed, leaning over him, Stiles’ arms still looped around his neck.

“The tree, talking to my dad. Everything.” Stiles doesn’t let go of Derek, pulling slightly until Derek gives in with a shake of his head and carefully lowers himself on top of Stiles. It’s cute how careful he’s being, and Stiles smiles, brushing his fingers across Derek’s brow. “You’re not going to hurt me, you know. I like—I like the weight of you against me.”

“Are you calling me fat?” 

“No, dumbass,” Stiles says with a laugh, his hands running down Derek’s back. “You know what I mean. It’s comforting. It’s—”

“Something real,” Derek says, eyes on Stiles, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Yeah.”

Derek hums and shifts a little, thigh slipping between Stiles’ legs as he rests his head against Stiles’ chest. Threading his fingers through Derek’s hair, Stiles concentrates on the solid thud of Derek’s heartbeat, the delicate curl of his fingers against Stiles’ shoulder. If he closes his eyes, he can see the spark that he saw the night they first got together; brighter than before, almost glowing. It floods through his body and he opens his eyes with a jolt.

“What?” Derek mumbles.

“Did you—” Stiles clears his throat. “Can you feel that?”

Derek’s quiet for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

“I like it.”

“Me too.”

*

“Where’d you get the tree?” Scott asks when he walks into the house, numerous bags in his hands.

“Derek.”

“And when are you changing your last name to Hale?”

“Hey,” Stiles punches Scott in the arm. “How do you know he wouldn’t take my name? Or we could hyphenate. Don’t assume things, dude.”

“I’d be your best man though, right?”

“As long as I’d still be yours.”

“Who else would it be?” Scott says, making a face at Stiles. “Where is Derek, anyway?”

“Christmas shopping with Isaac.”

“And you don’t need to do that?”

“Uh, no. My Christmas shopping is all done because I am a genius.” Stiles waves his arms in the air and grins. “Did you bring the stuff?”

“Everything we need for tamales right here,” Scott says, hefting the bags in the air.

“Awesome. Is it okay we’re doing them for tonight instead of Christmas Eve? I figured this way Boyd and Erica could be with us.”

“Yeah. Mom’s got a shift, but I said I’d take some over for her.” Scott puts the bags on the kitchen counter and opens the fridge, pulling the pork out. “Uh, Stiles? How many tamales are we making, anyway?”

“Like, 30? I doubled the amount from your abuela’s recipe since we’ve got extra werewolves this year.”

“Okay...” Scott balances the slabs of meat and gestures to one of the bags. “Onions and garlic are in there, the Dutch Oven in the other bag. We might need to slice this to get it to fit, but it’ll turn out the same.”

“Oh sweet, you remembered rubber gloves,” Stiles says, rummaging in the bags. “I did not want a repeat of senior year.”

“No one wants a repeat of senior year.”

“I didn’t realise they’d be that hot!”

“They’re chile pods, Stiles. I—no, I’m not going to do this with you again. Get chopping, we’ve got hours of cooking ahead of us.”

“Music?” Stiles asks, already reaching for the iPod dock.

“Music.”

*

Derek lets himself into the house and finds Stiles and Scott in the kitchen, throwing M&Ms at each other’s mouth. “What smells so good?” he asks, hooking an arm over Stiles’ shoulders and pulling him close.

“Me, obviously,” Stiles answers with a grin.

“Dude, no.” Scott makes a face and throws a handful of candy at Stiles. “It’s tamales. Homemade, my family recipe.”

“Dinner?” Derek lets go of Stiles and walks over to the counter, reaching for a tamale and scowling when Stiles slaps his hand. “Hey, I’m hungry.”

“Have something else. Everyone’s coming over tonight, remember?”

“Give me the M&Ms.”

Scott laughs and throws the bag at Derek, who catches it one handed, not spilling any of them.

“Show off,” Stiles says, nudging him with an elbow. “Get your shopping finished?” Derek stuffs a handful of candy in his mouth and nods. Stiles snorts and kisses his cheek. “Elegant, really elegant.”

“Shut up,” Derek says after he swallows. “You won’t let me have actual food.”

“No, you’re too lazy to look in the fridge for anything other than what’s in front of you.”

“I like what’s in front of me.” Derek smirks at Stiles, threading a finger through Stiles’ belt loop and pulling him forward.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, his fingers grazing against the nape of Derek’s neck.

“Yeah,” Derek says quietly, his lips brushing against Stiles’ cheek, subtly inhaling Stiles’ scent.

“Do you guys just forget when you’re in the room with someone?” Scott queries, rummaging under the sink for something to carry the tamales over to the hospital in. “I really hope you don’t do this around the Sheriff,” he says as he straightens up with a tupperware box in his hands.

“We’re not doing anything,” Stiles protests, turning around in Derek’s arms, enjoying the way Derek keeps a steady grip around his waist as he leans back against him.

“Uh huh,” Scott grins. “Look, I’m going to take dinner to my mom, and I think everyone else said they’d get here at 7, so you have time to do whatever it is you want to do that I don’t want to know about.” He loads some tamales into the box and heads out, waving a hand behind him before he closes the door.

“So,” Stiles says, running his fingers over Derek’s forearms. “What do you want to do?” Derek’s mouth is wet on the back of Stiles’ neck, his teeth scraping against the skin and a groan slips from Stiles’ lips at the feeling. “Yeah, okay, but how about not in the kitchen?”

Derek nips once at Stiles’ neck and lets him go, wrapping his fingers around Stiles’ wrist and tugging him towards the stairs.

*

Stiles smiles to himself as Derek covers him with his body, his hands running up Stiles’ outstretched arms before he buries his face in Stiles’ neck.

“Fuck,” Derek says, licking at Stiles’ skin. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Stiles grips Derek’s hands, his neck thrown back as Derek sucks a mark underneath his jaw. “You do the same to me. You—you’re _it_ for me, okay? Don’t ever doubt that.”

Derek lifts his head and moves up Stiles’ body until they’re face to face. His eyes are wide as he presses a chaste kiss against Stiles’ lips and rests their foreheads together. Stiles returns the soft smile that’s spread across Derek’s face and tilts his chin up until their lips meet, until he feels Derek’s tongue licking into his mouth and, god, he could make out with Derek _forever_. Wrestling his hands away from Derek’s grip, Stiles trails them down Derek’s back, hitching his legs up and wrapping them around Derek’s body, groaning when their cocks slide against each other.

“Okay with this?” Derek asks against Stiles’ open mouth, rolling his hips to punctuate.

“Super okay. There’s, uh, there’s lube in the drawer if you want to make this a little easier.”

Derek leans over, flicks open the drawer and grabs the lube. Sitting up, he twists the cap off and drizzles some on his hand before he takes them both in hand, smearing lube down their lengths.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out, his hips bucking up as far as he can with Derek’s weight on top of him. “Come down here,” he says, reaching a hand up and tugging at Derek’s neck until he’s back against Stiles, his lube slick hand sliding against Stiles’ skin and, fuck, they’re really going to need to shower after this. Stiles loses all thoughts of showering when Derek’s mouth meets his, and he wraps his legs around Derek, tiny noises escaping from both their mouths as they slowly rock against each other.

Derek’s teeth graze against Stiles’ throat and Stiles can’t control the broken sob that echoes around the room. It’s fucking ridiculous how much he’s addicted to the feel of Derek’s skin on his, the weight of Derek against him. It’s almost too much; Derek’s all around him, his arms bracketing Stiles’ head, their mouths desperately meeting and sharing sloppy, open mouthed kisses.

“Fuck,” Derek swears quietly, his mouth against Stiles’ cheek as he presses down against Stiles, his cock leaking pre-come between them. “I can’t— _Stiles_ ,” he gasps as he comes.

Stiles rocks up, his hands digging into Derek’s skin as he instinctively pushes his hips up, cock sliding through Derek’s come. He moves faster, the familiar coiling in his gut getting more intense each time his cock touches Derek’s skin and he needs to come, needs it like he needs air. Derek’s mouth is on his collarbone, sucking a mark into the flesh and when he bites down with blunt teeth, Stiles comes, his hands grasping for purchase on Derek’s sweaty back.

When he comes back to himself, Stiles stretches out his legs and pats Derek on the back, smiling tiredly as Derek nuzzles against his neck. Carding a hand through Derek’s hair, Stiles turns his head to glance at his bedside clock and—shit. “Derek, you’ve got to get off.”

“I thought I just did that.”

“Cute, but everyone— _including my father_ —is going to be here in 30 minutes, so unless you want to answer some awkward questions then...” Stiles trails off when Derek lifts his head, mouth twisted into an adorable pout. “That face is not fair,” Stiles groans before bucking his hips in a futile effort to get Derek off him. “Come on, do you really want my dad coming home to both of us covered in come?”

“No.”

“So can we go and shower?” It’s hard to hide the smile on his face when Derek pushes himself up, the slight edge of grumpiness clear on his features. Stiles reaches up and touches Derek’s cheek, his heart beating fast when Derek turns into the touch and closes his eyes. “Hey,” he says after a moment. “If we could, I’d rather stay here with you, but we have family and friends who are expecting us to be wearing clothes when they come over. Also, I’m starting to feel crusty and gross.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Derek climbs off Stiles, the corners of his mouth twitching when Stiles takes the hand he offers. He pulls Stiles close, bodies swaying against each other and Stiles sinks against him, Derek’s warm skin a balm against the coolness of his room. “Thought you said we needed to shower?” Derek says, one hand tangled in Stiles’ hair.

“In a moment.”

*

The evening passes in a blur, the pack all stuffed into the Stilinski house, falling over each other to reach the food and catch up on each other’s lives. Derek’s a steady presence that Stiles is constantly aware of, there’s a familiar warm glow whenever he looks up and catches Derek staring at him, a soft smile on his face.

“You guys are sickening,” Erica says with a grin, nudging Stiles with her elbow.

“Shut up.”

Erica pinches his side, laughing when he squirms away. “Your cheeks are going red, Stiles.”

“Isn’t there some rule about not teasing the person dating your alpha?”

“No.”

“I dislike you intensely.”

“No you don’t.” Erica kisses his cheek, her lipstick leaving a red mark on his skin. He rubs at it and rolls his eyes as she walks away. Stiles watches her hand his dad a drink, the fond look on his dad’s face when Erica gives him a quick hug.

When Stiles turns around to find something to eat, Scott slips in next to him, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth. “She’s right,” Scott says.

“What?”

“You are kind of sickening.”

“Oh no, you— _you_ —do not get to say that. Not you. Do you want me to remind you of the things you made me say to Allison? The things you said to me about Allison? Derek and I are not the sickening ones here, buddy.” Stiles folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at Scott.

“What’s going on?” Derek says, flinging an arm over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Scott thinks we’re sickening” Stiles says, reaching up and tangling his fingers with Derek’s hand, shuffling around until he’s leaning back against him. There’s a low hum from Derek as he noses at Stiles’ neck, and Stiles tries to hide the shiver that goes through him when Derek’s hot breath hits his neck. “You do realise my dad is in the room, right?” Stiles says in a harsh whisper.

“Yeah,” Scott says, shaking his head. “Not sickening at all.”

*

“What did you get me for Christmas?” Stiles asks, one hand splayed across Derek’s chest.

“It’s a surprise,” Derek says, his fingers gripping Stiles’ wrist firmly. The feel of his fingertips pressing against Stiles’ pulse sends a rush of heat down Stiles’ spine. Looking up at the stars, Stiles curls into Derek a little more, soaking up the warmth of his body.

“Really? I’m not a kid, Derek.”

“Then why are you whining about your presents?”

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbles, pushing his face against the curve of Derek’s neck. Darting his tongue out, he licks against the skin, feeling victorious when Derek shivers, his fingers tightening against Stiles’ wrist. “Like that?”

“We’re not having sex in your backyard.”

“Didn’t say we should,” Stiles says, moving the arm Derek is holding until Derek turns to lie on his side, his face turning towards Stiles. Shuffling closer, Stiles tangles their limbs together, their noses nudging against each other until finally Derek’s soft lips are against his. It’s a slow, soft kiss, Derek’s hand cupping Stiles’ face as he holds him in place, controlling the kiss. Stiles is happy to let him, likes losing himself in the heat of Derek’s mouth, the soft pressure of his lips, and the quiet rasp of Derek’s stubble against his skin.

There’s no way he’s ever going to get tired of the way Derek’s mouth feels, the little whimper that originates from Derek’s throat whenever Stiles’ teeth sink into his bottom lip. When he feels the warm glow around them, he grips Derek’s shoulder, fingers digging into his soft sweater, holding him as close as he possibly can. He loves every single one of Derek’s touches; when they’re in the apartment and Derek glances a hand across his neck on his way to the kitchen, when they’re in the store and he bumps his hip against Stiles’ to get his attention.

And when they’re alone, like this, and his hands slip under Stiles’ shirt, warm against his skin. Sometimes he presses so hard, Stiles is sure he’ll end up with Derek’s fingerprints imprinted on his skin. He’d fucking love that, wants to have something permanent to mark him as Derek’s, and he wishes he could mark Derek in the same way. Wishes they were able to show the world that they’re it for each other, even in the smallest of ways.

*

Stiles wakes up to Derek’s lips gently kissing his neck, strong arms wrapped around his body and one palm rubbing circles against his chest. He keeps his eyes closed and basks in the attention until Derek’s teeth scrape against the nape of his neck and Stiles smirks, pressing back into him.

“I know you’re awake,” Derek mutters, his hand resting over Stiles’ heart. “Merry Christmas.”

Turning around in Derek’s arms, Stiles leans in and brushes their mouths together, eyes still closed. “Merry Christmas,” he says quietly, bottom lip catching in Derek’s mouth. Sharing stale morning breath isn’t the way Stiles thought he’d start Christmas, but the quiet sigh that Derek lets out when Stiles opens his mouth to him is worth any residual grossness. They kiss slowly, sinking into the warm pocket of air underneath the blankets and Stiles brings a hand up against Derek’s neck, his fingers seeking out the steady, solid pulse.

The knock on the door makes Stiles jump a little, opening his eyes.

“Boys? You awake?”

“Ye-yeah, dad. We’re up.”

“Merry Christmas. Pancakes when you’re ready.”

“Merry Christmas, dad.” Stiles traces his fingers up Derek’s jaw, across his cheekbone and down to his top lip. “Morning,” Stiles says. “What kind of pancakes do you want?”

“Chocolate chip,” Derek says, his tongue slipping out and wetting Stiles’ fingers. “With chocolate sauce.”

“Are you _trying_ to set a bad example for my dad?”

“It’s Christmas, Stiles.” Derek grins at him, throwing the blankets off them and getting off the bed. “Do you guys—should I get dressed?”

Stiles sits up, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. “Put on a shirt and you’re good. Clothes are for after breakfast.”

“And ratty Iron Man pjs are for before breakfast?” Derek smirks, leaning over and tugging at Stiles’ sleep pants.

“You’re dating the man in the ratty Iron Man pjs, so I don’t know what point you’re trying to make,” Stiles says, scooting to the edge of the bed and looking up at Derek with a smile. “Where’d you hide my presents? I know they’re not under the tree.”

“Nope.” Derek steps away, picking up a t shirt from the floor and tugging it over his head. “Not telling you.” He ducks down and kisses Stiles quickly before opening the door and starting into the hall.

“Der—hey fuzzbutt!” Stiles chases after him, almost tripping over his feet. Running down the stairs after Derek, he catches him in the hallway, hand curling around Derek’s bicep and there’s a thrill in his stomach when Derek stops.

“Fuzzbutt? Really?” Derek leans against the wall and raises an eyebrow at him.

Stiles leans in, his hand still wrapped around Derek’s arm. “I’ve seen your butt. It is most definitely fuzzy.”

“And there’s something a father doesn’t need to hear.”

“Oh crap.” Stiles’s hand drops from Derek’s arm and he turns around, heat flushing up the back of his neck. “Um. Merry Christmas?” His dad’s arms are folded over his chest and Stiles squirms underneath his gaze, Derek’s hands resting lightly against his hips.

“Merry Christmas, boys,” John says eventually, his face softening. “Pancakes?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, gently pushing Stiles forward. “That’d be great.”

*

Stiles curls up at the end of the couch, watching Derek trace his fingers down the dust jacket of _Lullaby_. “You like it?”

“You got me a signed Palahniuk hardback and you’re asking if I _like_ it? How did you—”

“Secondhand bookshop near school,” Stiles shrugs and pokes Derek’s thigh with a foot. “So you like your presents?”

Derek catches Stiles’ foot, his fingers rubbing against Stiles’ snowman socks. “You shouldn’t have spent so much on me.”

“Don’t even. I got the vinyl online, and you kept complaining you needed new sweaters, so I bought you some.” He stretches his legs out, planting them in Derek’s lap. “You deserve a good Christmas,” he says, enjoying the soft smile on Derek’s face.

“I thought you two were going to help me cook,” John yells from the kitchen. “There’s potatoes in here that need peeling.”

Stiles groans and stares at the ceiling. “But I have new videogames to play,” he calls back.

“You want to eat, you help to cook. Unless you want to explain to everyone why there’s no food.” John sticks his head through the doorway and glares at both of them. “I put the meat in already, you have to do the vegetables.”

“What about pie?” Stiles asks.

“Melissa’s bringing pie.”

“So is Isaac,” Derek says.

Stiles stares at him, eyes wide. “Isaac’s bringing pie? Isaac cooks pie?”

“Yeah, pumpkin pie. He said he’d be here early, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” John says. “At least I’ll be able to get him to help.”

“Oh my God, okay.” Stiles swings his legs off the couch and makes a face. “I’m up, I’m coming, I’m helping.” Sticking his feet in his new sneakers, he stands up, brushing past his dad as he stalks towards the kitchen.

Derek slowly gets off the couch and gestures towards the door. “I’m going to, uh. Yeah.” He ducks his head and follows Stiles, grabbing the sack of potatoes from the floor and putting them on the counter. Glancing at the peeler Stiles hands to him, he shakes his head. “This will go quicker with my claws,” he says.

Laughing, Stiles nudges him with his elbow. “Go for it,” he says, placing a sloppy kiss on Derek’s cheek.

*

They’ve scrounged up extra chairs from Mrs. Marquez next door who spends her holidays with her grandchildren in Maine, but it’s a tight fit around the table. Stiles doesn’t mind, taking advantage of the closeness to hook his foot around Derek’s ankle, their arms pressed together while they eat. His dad keeps sneaking extra meat and Stiles is too relaxed to nag him to eat more vegetables. He’s got Derek by his side, and Scott across the table, the room filled with laughter and gentle teasing and it’s _family_. Stiles really loves it.

Derek nudges him with an elbow. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly. “You’re staring into space.”

“Nothing. Nothing, it’s—it’s good, here, with everyone. With you.”

“Yeah,” Derek smiles, rubbing his thumb at the corner of Stiles’ mouth before kissing him. “It is.”

“Not at the table, guys,” Scott smirks, kicking Stiles’ shin under the table.

Stiles flips him off, his other hand fisted in the fabric of Derek’s new sweater, smiling against his mouth. He presses their lips together one more time before turning back to the table, his cheeks slightly heated. “So,” he says with a cough. “What are you all doing for New Years?”

“Nice change of subject, Stiles,” Isaac says around a mouthful of green beans. “Danielle’s throwing a party, so we’re going to that.”

“And I’m not cool enough to be invited to that?”

“No, Stiles, we thought—” Isaac stops and glances over at Scott.

“We thought that you and Derek would be, uh, together, and Derek’s not really the party kind of guy so—”

“You can stop squirming, Scott,” Stiles says with a grin. He balances a forkful of mash and shrugs. “We probably will stay in.”

John holds a hand up and grimaces. “Stop there, please.”

“Dad, seriously? You’re not going to be here.”

“And I am very, very happy about that,” John says, holding up his beer and clinking it with Melissa’s wine glass.

“Mom, really?” Scott says.

“Parent solidarity, kiddo. We know you’ve grown up, we don’t want to know how.”

“Some of us already have too much information about that,” John says, ducking his head and mumbling “fuzzybutt,” under his breath.

“Oh my God, dad,” Stiles says, dropping his head onto Derek’s shoulder with a groan. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Who has a—” Isaac cuts himself off. “No, forget it, I don’t want to know.”

“This is not how I saw Christmas going,” Scott says, a vaguely disgusted look on his face. “Can we have pie now?”

“Yes, pie!” Melissa makes to push her chair back before John stops her.

“We’ll get it. Stiles?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles pushes his chair back and follows his dad into the kitchen.

“I’ll carry the pies, you get the plates and the ice cream. Hey, kid?”

Stiles puts the ice cream tub on the counter and turns to his dad. “Yeah?”

“You put together a good Christmas.” John claps a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, pulling him into a hug.

“Thanks dad,” Stiles says, squeezing him around the waist.

“Where’s the pie?” Scott shouts. “I need to eat it before my stomach realises it’s full.”

*

Stiles leans against Derek and pushes his shirt up, patting his rounded stomach. “I had too much pie,” he groans, head lolling against Derek’s chest. “Make me better.”

“You have a stomachache, Stiles, you’re not dying.” Derek grazes a hand over Stiles’ bare stomach, catching Stiles’ hand and holding it.

“Could be.”

“Don’t joke about that,” John says as he walks into the room, sinking into his recliner.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles, closing his eyes when Derek kisses his head. “No more death jokes, I promise.”

“Good.”

There’s the dull sound of his dad fumbling for the remote control and flicking the television on. Stiles thinks he can hear Miracle On 34th Street in the background, but it’ll take more effort than he currently has to open his eyes and check. Plus, Derek is warm, and his belly is full and really, all he wants is to take a nap. He’s sure his dad will drift off soon, and Derek’s breathing against his back is slow and steady, so he keeps his eyes closed and squeezes Derek’s hand. “Sleepy,” he mutters.

“Then go to sleep,” Derek says softly, his free arm pulling Stiles’ shirt back down before curling his hand around Stiles’ side. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

*

Stiles steps into the shower and trails a hand down Derek’s wet back, pressing his fingers against Derek’s spine. “Hi,” he says, kissing the nape of Derek’s neck.

“Hey.” Derek turns around, the water flattening his hair against his forehead. “Your dad in bed?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, slipping his hands around Derek’s waist and brushing their lips together. “Probably not asleep yet, but you can be quiet, right?”

“I—what?”

“If I wanted to blow you?” Stiles grins before he sinks to his knees, mouthing at Derek’s hip and wrapping a hand around Derek’s hardening cock, rolling the foreskin back. “Yeah, I think you can be quiet,” he says, looking up at Derek, water falling onto his face as he sticks his tongue out and teases the slit.

“Fuck— _Stiles_ ,” Derek bites out, leaning one hand on the wall of the shower, his other hand reaching down and touching Stiles’ head.

Leaning into the touch slightly, Stiles flashes a smirk up at Derek before kissing his way up Derek’s cock, the heady, intoxicating scent of _Derek_ filling his senses. His fingers grip around the base and he shuffles forward, the hard shower floor banging against his knees.

Derek’s hand curls in Stiles’ wet hair, attempting to grab at it, but unable to get a grip with the water still rushing down on them. Instead he cups the back of Stiles’ head, holding him firmly, and Stiles groans, the subtle pressure of Derek’s hand making him blindingly hard.

Sucking Derek down, Stiles flattens his tongue against the silky skin before pulling off and gasping for air, the water pounding down making it difficult for him to breathe. Stiles ducks back down, determined to make this good for Derek; he licks, sucks and touches Derek in all the ways he knows how, bringing him to the brink and not letting him come. When Derek swears under his breath, Stiles grins and lets Derek rub his cock against his lips, sticking his tongue out to lick up drops of pre-come spilling out.

Taking Derek in his mouth again, Stiles sucks around the head and Derek’s hand slips from Stiles’ head, his fingers lightly resting against Stiles’ neck instead. Derek’s thighs are shaking and Stiles reaches around to play with Derek’s balls, feeling extremely smug when Derek lets out a low groan, and it’s not long before Derek’s hips are jerking and he’s coming.

His cock slipping out of Stiles’ mouth, Derek grabs Stiles by the arms, hauling him up and kissing him, his tongue seeking out his own taste. Stiles sinks into the kiss, twining his arms around Derek’s neck, his feet slipping on the wet floor as his hard cock rubs against Derek’s hip, pre-come leaking between them and he rolls his hips, gasping against Derek’s mouth. “Derek, _please_ ,” he whines.

“Think you can be quiet?” Derek asks, sliding his hand between their bodies and gripping Stiles’ cock.

“Maybe.” Stiles’ lips brush against Derek’s mouth. “Maybe you should kiss me just incase.”

Derek smirks before kissing Stiles again as he slides his thumb over the head of Stiles’ cock and Stiles jerks his hips, pushing desperately into Derek’s fist. He’s so close he’s panting into Derek’s mouth, trying to hold back a loud moan, and then Derek’s biting on his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, and Stiles is coming, his fingers digging into Derek’s slick skin.

Looking down, he watches the water wash his come down the drain, his legs are shaking and it’s all he can do not to fall over. Derek’s hands stroke along his back, fingers delicately touching his hips before lightly grazing the curve of his ass and Stiles lets out a sigh, burying his face against Derek’s neck. “Water’s going to get cold,” he mutters.

“I know,” Derek says, bringing on of his hands up to cup the back of Stiles’ neck. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“Cheeseball,” Stiles says, smiling against Derek’s skin.

*

The open gates are large and imposing as always and Stiles stands just outside the entrance, a bunch of irises in one hand with Derek gripping his other one. “You don’t have to do this,” Stiles says.

“I want to.” Derek glances down at the white carnations he’s holding before meeting Stiles’ eyes. “They—it’s been too long.”

At that, Stiles starts to head in, Derek slightly behind him, his hand tight around Stiles’ fingers. Stiles knows the walk to his mother by heart, could do it with his eyes closed, but he had to check where the Hales were buried. It turned out that they weren’t that far away from his mom, and Stiles was oddly comforted by that.

Stopping by Stiles’ mom first, Stiles stands there for a moment before he tugs Derek forward. Crouching down, Stiles puts the flowers in the holder and runs his fingers over her name, the cold seeping through his skin.

“Hey mom,” he says softly. “Merry Christmas.” Straightening up, Stiles threads his fingers with Derek’s and leans against him, looking down at the grave. “You remember me talking about Derek? We’re together now, and since in all these years I was talking about him, I never brought him here, I figured it was about time. I think,” he swallows and squeezes Derek’s hand. “I think you’ve probably met his family by now, that they’re with you wherever you are, and they’re good people, right? We’re going to go and say hi after this.”

Derek drops Stiles’ hand and loops his arm around his waist, pulling him close; Stiles slumps against him, soaking up his warmth. “Dad’s doing well, he ate way too much at Christmas, but I gave him a pass. We—we miss you, but we’re okay.” Bending down with Derek following him, Stiles kisses his fingers and touches them to the headstone. “I love you, mom.”

They stay standing there for a moment before Stiles turns into Derek and slips his hands underneath Derek’s leather jacket, resting his head against Derek’s chest. Rubbing a hand through Stiles’ hair, Derek kisses the side of his head. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles replies in a hoarse voice. “Okay.”

Keeping an arm around Derek’s waist, they walk towards where the Hales are buried. Stiles knows Derek’s been here a few times, that he brought Cora here before she left town, but he’s never talked about it. They stop at Talia’s headstone first and Derek lets go of Stiles, walking down the row and bending down to place a carnation on the graves, bowing his head each time.

When he makes his way back to Stiles, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and breathes in as Stiles curls into him. “I don’t usually talk to them,” Derek says after a minute as he lets go of Stiles. “But, I wanted to come here because there’s a tradition in my family, when we have a bond like this with someone. It’s—we give them something.” Sticking his hand in his jacket pocket, Derek pulls out a box, cupping it in his hand as he smirks at Stiles. “You can take look off your face, it’s not a wedding ring.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says with a small smile, pinching Derek’s side. He rests his hand over the box and looks up at Derek. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek and takes the box from him, flipping the lid open. It’s a simple, slightly battered silver pendant. When he turns it over, he sees the spiral triskele engraved on it and he runs his fingertips along the curving lines. “Is it—who did—”

“It was my Grandmother’s,” Derek says quietly. “It was always meant to be mine, my mom put it in a safe deposit box after my Grandma died. Said that she’d take it out if I found—it’s yours. You’re meant to have it. I _want_ you to have it.”

“And you thought what I got you was too much,” Stiles says, shaking his head. He closes the box and slips it into his jacket pocket, fingers curling around it carefully. Touching Derek’s cheek, he leans in and kisses him, his thumb rubbing against Derek’s stubble. It’s quiet in the cemetery and Stiles could feel a little weird about kissing Derek in front of his family’s headstones, but he’s so completely overwhelmed by the pendant, by what it signifies, that he really can’t bring himself to care.

Stiles has never been given anything like this, and it’s not a wedding ring, but it’s something more than that. It’s a part of Derek’s family and Stiles knows how much that means to Derek, how little Derek actually has from them. He always knew the mate bond meant something, but Derek giving him this pendant makes it real. Resting their foreheads together, Stiles smiles at Derek, a sharp wind blowing around them.

“You okay?” Derek asks, his hands going around Stiles’ waist.

“Yeah. Shit, Derek this is—thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek says fondly.

“You know that’s not actually a compliment, right?”

Derek smirks, kissing the tip of Stiles’ nose, holding him close as the wind churns up the fallen leaves.

*

“So when are we going to have sex?”

Stiles didn’t mean to time the question for when Derek takes a mouthful of coffee, but the resulting mess on the kitchen table is totally worth it.

Derek coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, pointing a finger at Stiles. “You did that on purpose.”

“You’ll never prove it,” Stiles says, hiding a smile behind his own mug as Derek gets up. “That was a serious question, by the way. Are you—is there something you’re worried about?” Derek’s body stills for a second by the sink before he shakes it off and grabs a handful of paper towels, wiping down the table. He doesn’t look over at Stiles while he cleans up and eventually Stiles places a hand on top of Derek’s, stopping his movements. “Derek? Talk to me.”

Derek shakes Stiles’ hand off, bunching up the sodden paper towels and throwing them in the trash. Leaning his hands against the counter, Derek sighs heavily and—nope. Not happening. Pushing his chair back with a squeak, Stiles comes up behind Derek and runs his hands down Derek’s tense arms, resting his forehead against the nape of Derek’s neck.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, his fingers touching the back of Derek’s hand. “You know there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me run away, right?”

“It’s not that. How much research did you do on mating with werewolves?”

“Uh. Some? Derek, can you—” he wraps his fingers around Derek’s wrist and tugs. Derek turns around easily, his body pliant, and Stiles lets his hands rest on Derek’s hips. “Just talk?”

“Do you. Do you remember reading about knotting?”

“Oh.” Stiles’ absentmindedly rub circles against Derek’s skin. “Okay. So you—when we?”

“Yeah.” Derek’s eyes are locked on his, a questioning look in them and Stiles leans in, brushing his lips against Derek’s mouth.

“You can’t scare me off, Derek,” he says firmly. “I’m in this no matter what happens to your dick.”

“Romantic,” Derek grins.

“Shut up,” Stiles says, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Derek. “Will it happen each time we fuck? Because that seems kind of time consuming.”

“Oh God, Stiles.”

“What? It’s a legitimate question!”

“No, it won’t happen every time,” Derek says patiently. “The first time, it’s mating instinct. I won’t be able to control it. And afterwards, unless I—” he shakes his head. “It becomes more controllable.”

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

Stiles shrugs, placing a hand against Derek’s abs. “I told you, you can’t scare me off with your dick.”

“That sentence does not get cuter the more you say it.”

“That’s where we’ll agree to disagree. I’m always cute,” Stiles says, the slight pout on his lips twisting into a grin when Derek rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulling him closer. Derek ducks his head, his beard tickling Stiles’ cheek and Stiles shivers, his hands running up Derek’s sides, touching every inch of smooth skin he can. Warm breath ghosts against his neck as Derek’s mouth travels along the tendons. Blood is throbbing through his veins and he presses his body against Derek, the scrape of Derek’s teeth on his skin making him dig blunt nails into Derek’s waist.

“You’re something,” Derek says softly, sucking a mark into Stiles’ skin.

*

“You two going to stay in tonight?”

Stiles looks up at his dad, Derek asleep in his lap, and nods. “Yeah, we are.”

His dad sits on the recliner to put on his boots, his gun and holster on the coffee table. It’s a familiar sight, Stiles has watched his dad get ready for work more times than he can remember. When his dad was a deputy, Stiles and his mom would wave him off at the door, his mom always telling him to be safe. After she died, Stiles stopped waving his dad off at the door, but he still says those words, still hopes and wishes his dad stays safe. Carding his hands through Derek’s hair, Stiles leans back against the cushions. “Think you’ll be busy tonight?” he asks.

“I’ve got deputies out with breathalyzers, which we’re hoping will keep the drunk driving down,” his dad answers, standing up and putting his holster on. “Possibly some fights.” Slipping his jacket on, he looks down at them both. “You sure this is how you want to spend your New Years?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says as Derek makes an unbelieveably cute snuffling noise and nuzzles against Stiles’ thigh. “I’m sure.”

“You’ve been good for him,” his dad says, reaching over and squeezing Stiles’ shoulder. “And him for you.”

Stiles’ throat goes dry and he looks down at Derek, his fingers resting in Derek’s hair and he—it’s a terrifying power he has here, and he doesn’t know why he’s been trusted with it, why _Derek_ trusts him. The pendant Derek gave him is around his neck on a thin chain and it fits there like nothing else ever has before. It doesn’t weigh heavy, doesn’t feel like it’s choking him, it’s feels like it’s part of him. “Thanks dad,” Stiles says, finally tearing his eyes away from Derek. “Really, I—” Stiles rakes his free hand through his hair. “This is way over my head, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

“You love him, right? And he loves you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s all you need to know. The rest you can figure out.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, breathing out slowly and stroking a finger against Derek’s cheekbone. “Stay safe tonight, Dad.”

“Always do, kiddo.”

*

Stiles is halfway through one of the books his dad bought him for Christmas when Derek wakes up, stretching his legs out and rolling on to his back. “Hey,” Stiles says, putting down his book. “Sleeping Beauty awakens.”

“Ass,” Derek says with a snort, one hand groping around until he finds Stiles’ and tangles their fingers together. “Your dad left for work?”

“Yeah.” He touches Derek’s face, his fingers lightly skating across the skin. “What do you want to do tonight?”

Tilting his face into Stiles’ touch, Derek hums, a rumble in his chest as he nuzzles Stiles’ palm. “I thought we could have sex.”

Stiles’ hand stills for a moment before he moves it to the base of Derek’s throat, the tips of his fingers resting in the hollow. “Oh,” he says eventually.

“If you don’t want to—”

“No, shut up, I do,” Stiles says quickly. “I, yeah. Lets do that.”

“That’s romantic,” Derek says, grinning up at him.

“You want flowers and Marvin Gaye playing softly in the background?” Stiles snarks, raising an eyebrow at Derek. In one swift movement, Derek’s suddenly sitting up and in Stiles’ lap and, okay, _yeah_.

Derek noses at Stiles’ cheek, hot breath against Stiles’ skin as he pushes his hands under Stiles’ shirt. “No flowers, no music,” he says. “Want to be able to smell you, want to hear you. Each noise that you make, every word that slips from your mouth.”

“Holy— _Derek_ ,” Stiles breathes out, grabbing Derek by the hair and sealing their mouths together. It’s all heat, tongues sliding together and Stiles tugs on Derek’s hair as Derek runs his hands all over Stiles’ skin, his fingers digging into Stiles’ sides. Derek’s surrounding him and Stiles’ chest is starting to ache with the need to be closer, the feeling that even if he crawls inside Derek it wouldn’t be close enough. “Upstairs,” he says, pulling back from Derek for a moment. “We—upstairs.”

Climbing off him, Derek hauls Stiles to his feet and Stiles happily goes with him, curling against Derek, unable to resist kissing him again, sliding his arms around Derek’s waist. “Hold on,” Derek says quietly before he hoists Stiles up from the ground.

“Oh,” Stiles says, bringing his arms up around Derek’s neck. “Werewolf strength.” He grins and kisses Derek’s forehead, wriggling a little just to make Derek grip his ass harder.

“I will drop you,” Derek says, taking steady strides towards the stairs.

“No you won’t.” Stiles ducks his head, licking a stripe up Derek’s neck. Derek’s pulse jumps in reaction and Stiles smirks, clinging to Derek as they make their way up the stairs.

When they reach Stiles’ room, Derek drops Stiles on the bed with a smirk, covering Stiles’ body with his own when Stiles attempts to protest. Stiles can’t complain at the way Derek’s fingers are everywhere, burning patterns into his skin as he pushes Stiles’ shirt up and off, throwing it on the floor. “You too,” Stiles whispers, tugging at the soft fabric of Derek’s henley, his hands skimming against warm skin as he tries to shove it off Derek’s body. Laughing, Derek quickly sheds his shirt, rolling off Stiles and removing the rest of his clothes until he’s totally naked and Stiles—he might be staring.

He’s seen Derek’s naked body so many times before now, but this is different. This isn’t going to be Derek’s mouth on him, or Stiles gripping Derek and watching his pupils dilate as he comes; it’s going to be _everything_ and Stiles wants to soak that in. Wants to watch the way Derek’s muscles move under his skin as he slides over to Stiles, as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Stiles’ sweats and tugs them down. How Derek’s eyes follow the curve of Stiles’ body when he shoves his hips in the air to help Derek undress him, and how Derek’s unstyled hair flops over his face when he ducks his head to lick at Stiles’ hipbones.

It’s already making Stiles’ pulse speed up and they’ve barely done anything yet. Derek presses a hand over Stiles’ heart and kisses his jaw. “Okay?” he asks, slotting one leg between Stiles’ and lying next to him. “Your heart is pounding.”

“It’s intense,” Stiles says, turning his body into the warmth of Derek, nudging their faces together. “I want this, I do, but it’s—”

“Scary,” Derek says. Running a finger down Stiles’ face, Derek smiles and tips Stiles’ chin up. “For me too.”

“Yeah?”

“I—this is the first time I’m having sex with someone who knows me, who _I_ know.” Derek shifts onto his back and closes his eyes, reaching for Stiles’ hand and holding on tight. “This is new for me as well,” he says, his eyes opening slowly when he turns his head to look at Stiles. “Don’t ever think it’s not.”

Stiles lies on his side and kisses Derek’s cheek, his lips lingering against the skin. “I really love you,” he says, smoothing a hand down Derek’s chest. “I really, really love you.” Clambering on top of Derek, he stretches out along Derek’s body, cataloguing all the little ways they fit together and it’s so perfect he can’t resist rolling his hips a little.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans out, his eyes widening as his hands travel down Stiles’ body. Stiles arches up into the touch, putting some daylight between their bodies and Derek takes the opportunity to flip them over, his hands on Stiles’ shoulders holding him still. “How do you—I want you to be comfortable.”

“Oh.” Stiles looks up at him, shifts uncomfortably until Derek loosens his grip and Stiles can run his fingers up Derek’s arms. “How long will it last?”

“Long enough that this wouldn’t be a comfortable position,” Derek says with a small smile.

“Okay. I—I want to see you, though,” Stiles says quietly, feeling his skin heat up as Derek stares down at him and it’s silly, and stupidly sappy, but he _does_ want to be able to see Derek. He wants to know what Derek’s face will look like when he pushes inside Stiles, when they’re tied together, wants to be able to kiss him and breathe against him and not miss a single second of any of this.

“You could ride me,” Derek says, dragging a finger down Stiles’ cheek. “Then you wouldn’t have to take my weight when we’re tied. I was going to say we lie down and I’ll be behind you, but—I want to see you as well.” His face is almost bashful and Stiles can’t even take how _cute_ he looks.

“Lube’s in the drawer,” Stiles says with a grin, wriggling underneath Derek, smiling into the kiss that Derek gives him. He can hear Derek’s hand fumbling in the drawer, and there’s a low grunt of frustration when Derek has to pull away from Stiles to look for the lube.

Finally Derek gets his hands on it and then there’s a slow, breathtaking kiss that Stiles finds himself sinking into, to the point where he doesn’t notice Derek rolling them over so Stiles is on top. Derek’s fingers run down Stiles’ back until they graze over his ass, his dry fingers gently probing and a sigh suddenly escapes from Stiles’ mouth without his knowledge. He wants this, wants it _so_ much. “Derek, come on,” he says, shifting up until his knees are either side of Derek’s hips, his ass rocking back against Derek’s crotch.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes out, opening the lube and coating his fingers before reaching around.

This is familiar to Stiles, they’ve done _this_ before; Derek opening him up as he blows Stiles, evenings where Derek’s done nothing but finger him until Stiles has been sobbing, gripping at the sheets with desperation. Derek slowly works one finger in until Stiles is pushing back against it, silently demanding more and then it’s like time speeds up; Derek adding more fingers as Stiles falls forward, resting his face on Derek’s chest. He can hear the steady thud of Derek’s heart and when he closes his eyes, there’s a golden glow skirting the edges of his vision.

Derek works his way up to four fingers and Stiles swears he can feel each knuckle, every fingerprint ridge, as Derek stretches him loose. “Think you can take it?” Derek says, sliding his fingers out of Stiles. “Think you’re ready?”

Stiles nods, his head turning so he can place a wet kiss on Derek’s chest, his tongue darting out to lick at the slightly sweaty skin. “Yeah,” he says in a hoarse voice as he sits up, reaching out to touch Derek’s lips, smiling when Derek sucks his fingers in his mouth, his teeth grazing against them and making Stiles groan. He can feel Derek’s cock against his ass and he’s not sure he’s ever wanted anything more than this, ever wanted anything more than _Derek_.

The sound of Derek slicking himself up echoes in the room and then Stiles feels the blunt pressure against his hole. Derek’s hand is steady on Stiles’ hip and it’s already totally different from anyone Stiles has had sex with before. It’s slow and gentle and almost unbearably intimate. Their eyes are locked as Derek bottoms out and there’s a part of Stiles that wants to look away, but he can’t because Derek is _so_ open, and so trusting and all Stiles wants to do is protect him from anything that could come after them.

“Okay?” Derek asks, his fingers stroking Stiles’ hipbones, sliding across to lightly grip Stiles’ cock and, yeah, yes, Stiles is _fine_.

“Uh huh,” Stiles replies, his hands resting on Derek’s chest as he rolls his hips, closing his eyes at the feel of Derek inside him. “I—yeah.” He pushes himself up, savouring the lazy drag of Derek’s cock and the way it feels like his breath is being knocked out of him when he comes back down. “Can you—”

Derek knows what he’s asking for, and there’s that tug again, that glow that Stiles knows is the bond; it’s at the periphery of his vision as Derek pulls him forward, bending his knees for leverage, and then he’s fucking Stiles hard, his hips a bruising force against Stiles’ ass and it’s fucking incredible. Stiles kisses Derek like he wants to devour him, biting down on his bottom lip, mouths breathing against each other as he stares at Derek’s face, unable to believe that he has this, that he has _Derek_ like this.

Sweat pools on Stiles’ back and his cock is trapped between their bodies, each thrust from Derek causing it to rub against their skin, pre-come leaking everywhere. He can’t concentrate on taking care of himself, not when Derek tips his head back, exposing his throat to Stiles and— _fuck_.

Stiles licks at the sweaty skin and Derek doesn’t even flinch, his head stays tipped back and oh, _oh_ , he’s doing this on purpose. He means to do this. Swallowing, Stiles grazes his teeth across Derek’s throat, nipping lightly and groaning when the result is Derek fucking him ever so slowly. Emboldened, he opens his mouth and bites harder, the throb of Derek’s pulse making his skin burn. Derek lets out a strangled moan but he still fucks Stiles slowly, his hands gripping Stiles’ ass, holding him open as he pushes in again and again.

It’s a gorgeous torture and Stiles sinks into it each and every time. His mouth sucks marks into Derek’s skin and when they don’t vanish, Stiles’ chest aches with the knowledge that Derek is controlling his healing to keep those marks.

“I think—” Derek bites out as he pushes his cock into Stiles, his mouth dropping open as he comes, his fingers digging into Stiles’ skin. He’s breathing heavy, cock still hard inside Stiles and he licks his lips. “I think I. It feels like I’m—”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I can— _oh_.” There’s a swelling there and if Stiles thought he felt full before, that was nothing compared to this. He’s—it’s not bad, and it’s not anything that he didn’t expect, but knowing he’s tied to Derek so completely is mindblowing.

“Okay?” Derek asks, his voice soft against Stiles’ ear.

Moving a little and, oh, that’s interesting, Stiles nods, kissing Derek as he rocks his hips as much as he can. “Gonna come again?” he whispers against Derek’s mouth.

Derek’s biting his lip as Stiles tilts his hips just _so_ and then Stiles can feel the knot pulse inside him as Derek comes again, filling Stiles and for all that he’s not a werewolf, Stiles fucking loves this. Loves the idea that he’s being claimed, that he’ll always belong to Derek and Derek will always belong to him.

Wrapping a hand around his cock, Stiles starts to jerk himself off, absolutely sure it won’t take long and when Derek’s eyes focus on him, he blinks for a moment before bringing his hand around to cover Stiles’. He slows down Stiles’ pace to drag it out, like he wants to _pull_ Stiles’ orgasm from him and when Stiles finally comes, he’s panting, his thighs shaking as he covers Derek’s skin with come.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. There’s a loud thumping in his head and he’s not sure—then it hits him. “I think I can hear your heartbeat,” Stiles says slowly, and Derek stares back at him with a look of wonder on his face. Grabbing Stiles’ hand, Derek guides it towards his chest and, yeah, that’s the same pattern. “Holy shit,” Stiles says quietly, pressing his fingers against Derek’s skin hard enough to bruise. “I didn’t—holy shit.”

“Is that. Is it okay?”

Derek’s hands are stroking soothing patterns against Stiles’ thighs, easing the strain and Stiles stares at him. “Is it—yes, you moron,” Stiles leans down to kiss him, hissing when the knot presses against his prostate. “This is. I can hear your _heart_ , Derek.” He threads his fingers through Derek’s hair. “How is is that ever going to be not okay with me?”

Squirming a little, Stiles realises he’s getting hard again which, okay. Derek looks down between them and smirks at Stiles. “Enjoying yourself?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and wriggles, his mouth falling open at the sensations flooding up his spine each time he moves. “I swear we’re getting you a damn prostate massager so you know what this is like.”

Hands stilling on Stiles’ thighs, Derek coughs. “I—okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a constant surprise to me,” Stiles says. “But if you don’t get me off, I’m going to get my revenge.”

Derek laughs as he grips Stiles’ cock with his warm hand. It’s at the wrong angle, but it’s _Derek_ , and Stiles will never be unhappy with that. There’s a small, teasing smile on Derek’s face as he works Stiles, his thumb teasing at the slit as he pushes up a little and, fuck, that’s—Derek’s _surrounding_ him in ways Stiles had never imagined. The knot is only part of it, a fucking big part of it, but there’s this warmth and Stiles can’t—there’s the glow and Derek’s heartbeat and it’s almost too much.

He gropes around for Derek’s hand, needing something solid to hold onto, squeezing hard when their fingers are finally linked together. Stiles fights to keep his eyes open against the combined attack on his senses, but it’s useless and he finds himself seeing the golden glow as he comes.

When he opens his eyes, the glow hasn’t faded, and when he looks at Derek, the awe he feels is reflected back at him. “Oh wow,” Stiles breathes out, his vision hazy.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is quiet and he’s completely still.

“I know,” Stiles says, his grip on Derek’s hand tightening. “I know.”

There’s a thumping echoing in the room and Stiles knows—he just _knows_ —that it’s their heartbeats. They’re not in sync, but there’s a steady rhythm to it as they weave in and out of each other and Stiles’ chest aches with how beautiful it sounds.

“I didn’t realise,” Derek says. “Didn’t realise it would be—”

“Beautiful,” Stiles finishes. “It’s so beautiful.”

They don’t talk again, watching the golden haze slowly fade away and the sounds of their heartbeats getting quieter until the room is back to normal. If Stiles concentrates, he can still hear Derek’s heart, but it’s not as intrusive as before. It’s a comfort, in the same way that the scent of Derek’s shampoo is. It’s another way of knowing Derek, of being aware of him, of _them_ and Stiles thinks it could lull him to sleep if he’d let it.

Derek kisses Stiles’ hand and Stiles is suddenly aware that Derek’s come has started to leak out of him. “I think you can pull out,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t feel like—oh _God_ ,” Stiles exclaims as Derek slowly pulls out of him. He can feel the trickle of come down the back of his thighs and before he knows it, Derek has flipped him and is crawling between Stiles’ legs, pushing his thighs apart. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting you clean,” Derek says hoarsely, before his tongue slides inside Stiles. His hands are holding Stiles open as his tongue licks at Stiles’ sensitive hole and it’s almost _too_ much. Stiles squirms, his fingers tangling in the mussed sheets, his voice whining and Derek’s not letting up his explorations, not stopping in his effort to lick up every bit of his own come from inside of Stiles.

His body is heavy with exhaustion and Stiles closes his eyes, his world narrowing to Derek’s fingers stroking his skin, the sounds Derek makes as he works his warm tongue inside Stiles again and again. Lazily reaching down, Stiles pets Derek’s hair, smiling when Derek leans into the touch for a moment. He feels fucked out in the best possible way, and when he gets a good grip on Derek’s hair he tugs, wanting Derek to be with him. “C’me up here,” he slurs, eyes cracked open enough to see Derek lift his head.

Derek kisses his way up Stiles’ body, leaving Stiles feeling flushed by the time he’s face to face with Derek. Touching Derek’s face, Stiles traces the pads of his fingers across Derek’s forehead, his nose, his lips. It’s incredibly indulgent, and Derek’s letting him do it, holds himself still until Stiles has had his fill, until Stiles sighs happily and his fingers grip the back of Derek’s neck, pulling him down into a slow, dirty kiss.

The bedding is crumpled around them, blankets on the floor and the only thing keeping Stiles warm is Derek pressed against him, but he has absolutely no desire to move. “What’s the time?” he asks, fingers stroking down Derek’s back.

“Gone midnight,” Derek says when he turns his head to glance at the clock. “Happy New Year,” he says, kissing Stiles’ jaw.

“Happy New Year,” Stiles says absently.

“What?” Derek pushes himself up on his elbows to look at Stiles’ face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says with a smile. “You ever heard of that superstition that what you’re doing at midnight on New Year’s Eve is what you’ll spend the rest of the year doing?”

Derek shakes his head, chuckling softly. “I could live with that,” he says.

“Me either.”

“Not just for the rest of the year, either.” Stiles curves a leg over Derek’s hips, heel of his foot pressing into the back of Derek’s thigh. “For the rest of forever.”

“Think you can put up with me for that long?” Derek asks with a self deprecating smile.

“Think I’m gonna want to,” Stiles replies, revelling in the way Derek’s face lights up, how his fingers reach down and brush against the pendant that’s nestling in the hollow of Stiles’ throat. How this feels _right_ in a way that nothing in Stiles’ life has for a long time. He gives Derek a small smile before slapping him on the shoulder. “These sheets are really gross,” he says with a grimace. A flush comes over Derek’s cheeks and Stiles rolls his eyes. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Smells like you and me.”

“Well it _feels_ like drying come, and that is not how I want to start my year,” Stiles says.

“Fuss fuss fuss,” Derek says with a smirk, dishevelled hair flopping onto his forehead as he sits up. He’s breathtaking in his beauty, the fluidity of his body as he gets off the bed, one hand unconsciously rubbing across the marks from Stiles that still haven’t healed. “What?” he asks when he turns around to face Stiles.

“Nothing,” Stiles says, clambering to his knees on the bed. “You—just you,” he says, taking the hand Derek offers and holding on tightly as he stumbles off the bed.

Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ temple as they head towards the bathroom, his hands moving restlessly over Stiles’ skin. It doesn’t change when they get in the shower, hot water hitting their skin, Derek exploring every inch of Stiles, fingers playing at his ass until Stiles pushes his hand away with a shy grin. “Sore,” he says, ducking his head, and Derek simply kisses him softly, squeezing shampoo into his hands and washing Stiles’ hair. The foam spills down his body and Stiles closes his eyes, lets Derek take care of him for the moment, before he takes care of Derek.

Stiles takes his time, massaging the bodywash into Derek’s muscles, kissing his shoulders and the nape of his neck until he’s almost boneless. It’s something Stiles hasn’t got used to yet; the way his touch does this to Derek, how running his hands over Derek’s skin can elcit the kinds of reactions Stiles could’ve only imagined years previously.

They strip the bed, find new blankets and sheets and slowly find their way back onto the mattress, tangling themselves around each other. Stiles can’t take his eyes off Derek, and from the way Derek is staring back at him, Stiles would bet he feels the same way. He catalogues the subtle twitch at the corners of Derek’s mouth, the laughter lines he can see around Derek’s eyes, the way Derek’s hair goes slightly wavy when it’s wet. It’s all fascinating to him and he doesn’t want—if he closes his eyes and sleeps, he loses this moment and Stiles isn’t okay with that happening.

“You gonna go to sleep?” Derek whispers, his fingers running down Stiles’ arm.

“Not yet,” Stiles replies, leaning forward and brushing his nose against Derek’s cheek.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says, like he knows what Stiles is thinking.

“Why don’t you go to sleep, then?”

“Because.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.” Derek grazes his lips against Stiles’ and smiles into the kiss. “I can think of a good reason to go to sleep,” he says, mouth still against Stiles’.

“Go on.”

“We can have sex before your dad gets back from work.”

“Huh.”

“Sold?”

“Yep.”

*

The next morning, Stiles has his mouth around Derek’s cock when Derek suddenly goes very still.

Stiles pulls off and looks up at Derek. “What?”

“Your dad’s car,” Derek says, his fingers digging into his bare thighs.

“Better make this quick, then,” Stiles says with a wicked smirk before he dives back down. He doesn’t know how far off his dad is from the house, but he’s willing to bet his dad has no desire to walk into Stiles’ bedroom without knocking. Not with Derek staying here, anyway. And Stiles doesn’t want to _stop_ ; doesn’t want to give up the glorious weight of Derek’s cock in his mouth, how when he pulls off and circles his tongue underneath the foreskin, Derek lets out this amazing noise that makes Stiles’ blood thrum with excitement.

Hollowing his cheeks, Stiles lets spit spill out of his mouth and uses his hand to slick Derek’s cock with it, rolling the foreskin back until he can wrap his lips around the exposed head. Derek’s fingers press against the back of Stiles’ neck and a muffled groan slips out of Stiles’ mouth at the idea of Derek’s fingers leaving bruises right there where everyone could see.

“Fuck,” Derek whispers as he comes in Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles can’t take it all, but he tries, and when he pulls off, there’s come across his lips and dripping down his chin. He laughs when Derek grabs him and licks at his face, tongue sliding across Stiles’ skin until their mouths collide and they’re kissing; Stiles’ fingers fisted in Derek’s hair and Derek’s arms wrapping around Stiles’ waist, hauling Stiles onto his lap. Stiles throws himself in the kiss, relishing in the taste of Derek, and barely even hears it when the front door closes.

“I think that’s my dad,” Stiles reluctantly mumbles against Derek’s mouth.

“Yeah.” Derek rests their foreheads together, a soft smile on his face. “We should go downstairs,” he says.

“I know.” Stiles tilts his head, settling on Derek’s lap, stroking the nape of Derek’s neck. “We will,” he says as he leans in for another kiss.

*

_Epilogue_

“You really want to move in with me?”

“We spent three years living together already, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs, glancing at the house—holy fuck, Derek owns a _house_ —and bites his lip. “Yeah, but this is real. It’s not school.”

“We’ve always been real,” Derek says, tangling their fingers together easily. “You know that.”

“I don’t want to be an adult,” Stiles says with a slight pout. “This is all adult stuff—and don’t even think about making that joke, Derek—remember how I felt the night we first had sex?”

“You said it was scary,” Derek says, gently pulling Stiles closer before curling his arms around him. “And I said I understood. That it was scary for me as well. Stiles, this is the same.”

“Yeah?” Stiles ducks his head and sticks his face against the curve of Derek’s neck, breathing in his scent.

“Yes, dumbass.”

“You’ve spent too much time with me.”

“Not possible,” Derek says quietly and it’s said in such a simple way that Stiles can’t quite get his head around it. Even over three years later, the way Derek will let Stiles know how much he still wants to be with him twists his stomach in knots. It would make him wonder what he’s done to deserve such devotion, but every day he gets to wake up with Derek, Stiles feels the same way. He’ll never get enough of Derek, will never stop wanting him to be around, never stop wanting to watch cartoons with him on a Sunday morning, or helping him cook for the pack on Thursday nights.

“Stopped freaking out?” Derek asks, his hand resting in the small of Stiles’ back.

“I wasn’t freaking out,” Stiles says, lifting his head and leaning against Derek’s arm, placing a chaste kiss against Derek’s cheek.

“Sure you weren’t,” Derek says with a grin, walking towards the house.

“I’m sorry, did you _want_ to get laid tonight?”

Derek stops by the door and raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “I’ll let you paint the bathroom Batman colours if you don’t have sex with me tonight. In our new house.”

Huffing out a sign, Stiles’ shoulders slump because he knows he won’t hold out. Not when Derek is standing there with a pleased smile on his face and the keys to their house dangling between his fingers. “Asshole,” Stiles says, fondly.

“So are you,” Derek says with a smug grin as he turns to unlock the door to the house.

“We make a good team then, don’t we?”

“The best.” Derek pushes the door open and gestures to Stiles. “You want to go in first?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s hand. “I want to go in with you.”

“I’m not carrying you.”

“Did I ask you to?”

“Hey,” Scott calls from the truck. “Are you two actually going to move in today, or what?”

“Sorry,” Stiles yells back before turning to Derek with a grin. “I don’t think Scott appreciates our foreplay.”

“I can still hear you, Stiles,” Scott groans loudly. “And now I’m scarred for life.”

“Come on,” Derek says, hand warm around Stiles’ as he takes a step over the threshold. “Let’s do this.”


End file.
